


The Truth, Part 9

by Seasider



Series: The Truth [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack Treated Seriously, Darth Vader Medical, Darth Vader Needs a Hug, Darth Vader’s A+ Parenting, Darth Vader’s Mediocre Parenting, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Gray Luke Skywalker, Humor, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Obsessive Darth Vader, PTSD, Parent Darth Vader, Protective Darth Vader, Stylish Luke Skywalker, Suitless Darth Vader, Sunshine Luke Skywalker, stormtroopers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasider/pseuds/Seasider
Summary: At last Luke and Vader spent quality time together. They have a lot of talking and bonding to do and for once, it’s not just Luke doing all the talking.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: The Truth [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775602
Comments: 70
Kudos: 132





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! I thought they’d never get to the reunion, but here they are! :)

“Is something wrong with your other arm?” Luke’s voice was muffled against the cloak.

Vader’s voice rumbled beside his cheek. “Why would you—”

“Because it takes _two_ arms to hug properly.” To demonstrate, he managed to wriggle both his arms under the cape and around his dad’s bulk. “See? Like this. Just take your other arm and wrap it.”

“You will not cease with your demand until I do this thing.” It was a perfunctory protest, and he was squeezed tightly before being released.

He curled his fingers around his father’s arms and stepped back. “Let me look at you. My, how you’ve grown! Have you been eating your veggies?”

Vader made a strangled noise. “You left your belongings in the center of the entry chamber.”

“So? Is someone going to trip over them?” But he gestured and levitated them, peeking in case he could see an approving smile under the mask. “Is this a military base or a home?”

“Yes.” Darth Vader said. “Come.”

“Since you asked so nicely, okay.” He followed his father through a long corridor and into a padded lift. “It’s sure gloomy here. The planet. This place. Don’t you miss sunshine?”

For some indiscernible reason, his dad chuckled but didn’t reply. They traveled upward for many seconds. “Are we going to the penthouse?”

“Not quite. I believe you will appreciate this area more than the ‘gloominess’.”

The doors parted to reveal a wide room that was nearly empty save for minimal seating, a few small tables, sofa, desk and chairs, and a large bed draped with a blue and gold patterned spread. One wall was a window that looked too thick to be real glass— probably some kind of attack-proof plasti. Luke dumped his belongings on the floor and flopped on the blue sofa. “Nice.” The other walls were painted dark blue like he’d wanted to use in the barracks. He looked up at the Sith who towered over him. If his dad had white paint, he could paint stars. “You have no idea how glad I am to be here!”

“Indeed? I didn’t realize that—”

“Oh, you did too! You know I like being with you.”

The slight incline of the helmet was a positive response so he continued, “It’s relaxing. No pretense. I can be _me.”_

“Should I take that as a threat?”

“Maybe! Take a load off.” Luke grinned and patted the seat next to him. “Shed your coat and stay awhile.”

The cape remained in place, but his father sat down at a _respectful distance._ Luke stifled a sigh. “So… how have you been?”

The helmet tilted. “I regret that your life must be one of pretense.”

This time he _did_ sigh. His father seemed weird, but then again it usually took Vader awhile to warm up to him, even when they were only in their heads. “Yeah, well…. That wasn’t what I asked. And I don’t mind so much having to pretend. It’s just easier to be with you and be real.” He felt like he was fumbling. “Tell me about this place. Home or base?”

“Both. It’s my favored home and my fortress. With its location and troops, it’s impregnable.”

“Oh.” What sort of serious mood was this? “Are you expecting someone to impregnate it?” That didn’t get a chuckle. “So you have other homes?”

“A castle on Mustafar. I own a building in Imperial City and reside in the upper floors when I must be there.”

“Probably has a great view.” An entire building? Okay, but _Mustafar?_ The place where his father had lost everything? Why would he ever want to go back, let alone have a home there? Subdued, he didn’t respond further.

But Vader continued as if he couldn’t suppress his words: “But _this_ is my home. _This_ is mine. Palpatine knows of it, but dares not trespass. It is _mine._ And now it is your home also.”

Oh, great. A home where he couldn’t climb trees or jump around _and_ had to watch out for acid raindrops. “Well… thanks. Um… does it ever stop raining? Has anyone ever fallen off the platform? Where do all those troopers stay? Do they live here in the castle? Are there hangars and ships? How do you—”

The helmet tilted toward him. “Do you remember your promise to me?”

He playfully imitated his dad and tilted his head. “You will have to be more specific, ” he pronounced ponderously.

“You vowed to ask only one question per day.”

“That promise was dependent on how _many_ days we’re here.”

“You did not specify that, _Son.”_

He smiled slightly. “Merely an oversight on my part, _Father.”_ Something else interested him. “So why wouldn’t the Emperor attack?”

“Another question?” But the Dark Lord was evidently feeling indulgent. “The defenses are _impregnable._ Any such attempt from him, and his fleet would be disabled before they could reach firing distance.”

“But—”

“I’’ll explain more later.” Characteristically abrupt, Vader changed the subject. “You’re hungry.”

Was that a question or a statement or a command? But, yeah, he was. “Is there a dining room or a mess hall or…?”

His father snorted as if the idea of his _son_ eating in such a place was absurd and directed him to the autoserve unit that was preprogrammed with a list of healthy choices. He punched in the least boring food and wondered how long it would take.

“Up to ten minutes.”

“You’re kidding. Why so long?”

“It’s real food, not synthetic.” Vader’s tone lightened. “I provide what I must to keep my troops content in this _gloomy_ fortress.”

Well, okay then. “My friend Wes says food is the most important thing to keep an army happy.” He resettled on the sofa, legs tucked under him so he could sit sideways and look at the Dark Lord. “So what’s going on? You’re acting strange.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.” He rested his arm on the back of the cushion and laid his cheek against it. “I know you’re glad to see me, but you’re being weird.” Way too friendly (sort of) and way too open. Plus, since when did his dad use contractions? His speech was normally so precise.

“I regret that I do not live up to your expectations.”

Shifting again, he frowned. This wasn’t how he wanted their reunion to begin. His father seemed stiff. “Do you feel all right? Because you don’t feel all right to me.”

Vader leaned forward, forearms on his knees, an oddly informal position. “A few times a year I come to Vjun for maintenance to my prosthetics and… skin treatments. Since you have expressed interest in the mechanics of my suit, I… invite you to view the process.”

Luke’s lips parted in astonishment. Honestly, he’d thought that his father would never allow such an intimacy, especially since he’d never even revealed his damn _face_ , except occasionally, probably accidentally, in their mutual meditations when Luke got a peek. “Thank you. What sort of skin treatments?”

“Do you know what debridement is?”

“Sort of. Removing skin from wounds?”

“Necrotic skin— non-living tissue— must be removed to prevent further decay beneath it.” His father straightened. “I have my prosthetics removed during the procedure. What remains of my body is then lowered into a bacta tank to finish and promote healing.”

What _remains—?_ Did his dad mean _him?_ His brain couldn’t turn those words into a vision. Just this much information was _too_ much. “I don’t understand. After so many years, why haven’t you healed? Don’t you have synthskin covering the old burns?”

“I have what I am permitted to have.” The words were bitten off and Luke understood immediately.

 _“Him.”_ He refused to say the Emperor’s name. “He wants to keep you… dependent on him. Are the procedures painful?”

No answer was an answer. Luke frowned and tried to remain calm despite the nausea rising in his throat. “Who’s here with you when that’s being done?” It had never occurred to him to ask if his father had someone… a special person in his life. _Another_ special person. He had mixed feelings about that possibility. He hated the idea that his dad was isolated, but he couldn’t avoid a spark of anxiety.

“Droids attend me.” Vader hesitated, and again Luke wondered at his father’s unusual behavior. The Sith felt almost… fragile. “My physical immobility at these times is a matter of some concern. However, I rely on the Force and, to a somewhat lesser extent, the troops.”

 _To protect me._ He heard the words his father wouldn’t admit. “Well, I’m here now and will be every time in the future. If you _want_ me here, that is,” he finished uncertainly. Would his father truly reveal his vulnerability to any living being, even his son?

And really… did he _want_ to see his father that way?

Maybe not, but he’d never let his dad down.

“If you wish.” Did his imagination add a hint of relief in the tone? “Now I will leave you to eat. Your clothing selections are in the closet. When you’re finished, you may use the stairs to come one level up. To the penthouse,” he added with the slightest hint of amusement, and departed with an elegant swirl of the ebony cape.

 _Well._ A lot to think about already. Except for the skin treatments— he didn’t want to think about the treatment and what he would watch his father going through. He closed his eyes and focused on _now._

A series of chimes alerted him to the presence of a small door that hid a mini-lift, and there he found the food he’d ordered. He ate quickly and absently, then couldn’t resist a quick inventory of the closet. A few pairs of boots, utilitarian jumpsuits, pants and shirts and jackets, pajamas and a thick _robe!_ A robe, like he was going to be _lounging_ around here? He wouldn’t have room in his pack for all this, but definitely room for the robe— then it occurred to him that his dad might want him to keep the clothes here because he would be coming back. He unpacked what he’d brought— more than his dad had instructed, but he wanted to show his father that he could look good. And no matter what Wes said, he still wanted white boots for his new ivory outfit! He’d drop a hint tonight.

He paused in the stairwell, opening his senses, trying to feel what his father was feeling. Something was different, something fundamental, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery before he left but he didn’t want to push too hard. For now, he slid open the door to the ‘penthouse’.

It was as he expected: functional. At least the entry where Vader greeted him was plain and bereft of decorations. “There are many rooms. This,” his father gestured left, “is the treatment area.”

Luke took that as an invitation to look, so he went to the doorway to study it. Medical bed, bacta tank, something that looked like… well, not a shower, but an area with water heads on the ceiling and a drain in the floor. A single chair, multiple cabinets with clear fronts that showed equipment both medical and mechanical. A lot of steel instruments that looked like torture devices whose intended use he couldn’t guess. The room smelled like the base’s hospital ward. No windows, nothing to distract from the procedures that went on here. He sighed. Even a few travel posters would liven it up.

“There,” Vader pointed to another room, “my bed, rarely used, and my meditation pod. This floor is my private living area, and here is my office. While you are here, you are welcome in any of it.”

“What about when I’m _not_ here?” he quipped nervously, unable to stop his words. Curious, he walked into his dad’s private ‘office’. It was surprisingly nicer than the other rooms. Which only meant that the walls were painted _light_ blue and there were a few pieces of furniture, some strange paintings on the walls, and an abstract statue that he thought perhaps had been installed upside down but he couldn’t be sure.

“This entire suite has the ability to dispense purified oxygen so that I may remove my helmet and armor.”

Good. Because as nearly as he knew, there hadn’t been any room like this on the Devastator except for the pod. His dad needed _some_ sort of freedom from his prison. No wonder he liked this place despite its inhospitable atmosphere.

There was an extra-long sofa and a huge desk with a comfortable chair behind it. With a questioning look at his dad and receiving no negative response, he presumed it was permission and sat down. His feet didn’t touch the floor, which made him giggle. Did it spin? _—Yes,_ yes it did!

After a couple revolutions and another curious glance at his father, Luke stopped and studied the holoprojector on the desktop. His finger hovered over it, waiting, but the Dark Lord said nothing. Okay, this was really _weird_. His father was usually so protective of everything. What was going on? He pushed the button and a figure appeared and—

“Hey, that’s _me!”_ He laughed delightedly, not totally surprised to see that it was a spy picture taken on the base— he’d been caught in mid-air, jumping off an x-wing. Well, his dad had _said_ he had holos and here they were. “You—”

The holo shimmered and changed. Luke, standing outside the canteen. Luke, smiling at Wes. Luke, laughing with another mech. Luke, in the canteen stuffing food into his mouth. Luke, talking and… more of Luke talking. He must talk a lot. He hit the acceleration button to cycle through all the pictures. They were all him on the base… on the Devastator… and… even a couple on Tatooine, wearing his ridiculous clothes? “I….” He wasn’t sure what to say.

“There will be additions after this visit.” Vader sounded satisfied and maybe even smug.

Luke looked sideways at him, imagining his holo being taken while he slept. While he thought he was alone. Eyes on him, all the time. He had a _stalker!_ Okay, it was his _dad_ , but still… _._ “I dunno about this, Dad.”

A chuckle emitted from the vocoder. “You sleep with a poster of me under your pillow.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay, so we’re both weird, but...uh…this is a whole ‘nother level.” Biting his lip, he thought for a few seconds before coming up with a brilliant idea. “Hey, I have a brilliant idea!”

“Of course you do, you’re my son.”

“Riiiight.” He pushed ahead. “How about if I— on a regular basis— send you some holos of me? I’ll have a friend take them, then you won’t have to pay a spy to do it.”

“Spies get paid no matter what their mission,” the Dark Lord responded easily.

“Yeah… but the thing is….” He hesitated and hoped his father wouldn’t be insulted and explode. “Dad, this is _creepy!_ It’s like I’m being _stalked!_ Now I’m gonna be paranoid and always looking for whoever’s doing this. You won’t get good snaps because I’ll be frowning and squinting suspiciously all the time.” At least there weren’t pictures of him in the barracks, so it wasn’t one of his friends. “Seriously— what do you tell the spy to do, take pics of the cute blond kid? Honestly! What must they think?”

“They’re not paid to think, they’re paid to obey, and now you’re being childish.”

“And that’s _another_ thing!” Determined not to let this go, he continued, “I’m a minor! I’m underage! There’s somebody following me! This should be illegal! The spy should be arrested! Just let me send you holos! _Promise_ me that you won’t have somebody following me around taking snaps! It’s weird!” _Even for you,_ he added silently.

“Very well.”

That was too easy. “Are you _promising?_ Giving me your word of honor?”

“I’m your father.” Which was _not_ the right answer!

“Daaaaaad! Promise!”

“I promise to consider your request. And now—“ With an unnecessary wave of his hand, Vader switched off the projector. He inclined his helmet and the room’s lights switched off. Before Luke could startle, more lights appeared suddenly, and the entire room— floor, walls, ceiling— turned into a moving galaxy complete with color-enhanced exploding novas. He gasped and craned his neck, turning the chair to study it all. “This is amazing!”

“Yes,” his father agreed, pleased, and sat on the sofa. “You may be here whenever you wish, but bring your respirator as usually the oxygen level will be enhanced. And the projector, of course, is Force-activated, so you must deduce how to initiate it.”

“Some challenge,” he scoffed. “That’ll be a piece of cake!”

Elbows on the chair arms, he folded his hands and relaxed, watching the stars move slowly around him. This is what he’d always wanted in a father— someone to talk with easily, to share experiences. It was what he’d thought he would never have. And now that he had it—

It didn’t feel right. Not with someone who was stalking him.

“I’m serious about the stalker thing, Dad.”

“My agent is not _stalking_ you. He or she is a spy— _spying._ And if you happen to be spotted, your image will be recorded.”

“Stars.” He heaved a huge sigh. “Right. But tell them to stop doing it anyway, will you?”

“I said I would consider it. Now, observe the patterns in the galaxy and describe where we are located in relation to the projection.”

When he got back to the base, he would start wearing face paint again. Or makeup. Maybe Leia would loan him some because she seemed to have a lot. And he could color his hair. Maybe he would wear dirty clothes. Or a helmet all the time.That would serve his father right!

Or he could get dressed up in his new clothes and look so fabulous that even the spy would be impressed.

Which reminded him….

“Yeah… okay, but before we start… umm, I need white boots. Oh, no, _wait!_ — not white-white, more like sand color. Like Tatooine. Because my friend Wes said I’d look like a stormtrooper in all white. Which would be awful— I mean,” he added when the helmet turned toward him, “not right this _second_ , but could you order some? Or show _me_ how to order? As long as I have an account— okay, _your_ account— maybe I should be able to skip the middle man and order myself— Well, not that _you’re_ a middle man, but….” He sighed and gave up. “Anyway, I have a great ivory outfit, which will look terrific in holos, and… you know… I need boots to wear with it. While I’m here.”

“I see.” Even in a sitting position, the Dark Lord could be intimidating. But his father only said: “And if I order these _boots_ for you, will you assist me in plotting a galactic takeover?”

Oh. Well…. “I guess. Although that seems a pretty high price to pay for a pair of boots.” Luke grinned, pretending his dad was joking, but figuring he was probably serious. “Maybe I should get something else too.”

“Like a haircut.”

No, these particular discussions could be put off for another day or three. “So, star map. Let me see….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Truth Interludes: Chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578542/chapters/60690832) coincides with this chapter


	2. Armored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke gets a new outfit! And they practice with lightsabers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added [“The Truth: Interludes, Chapter 8: Through Vader’s Eyes”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578542/chapters/60690832) which precedes this chapter and describes Vader’s thoughts about Luke in Chapter 1.

A chirping sound startled him awake and he looked around for the source. It chirped again and, groaning at the intrusion, he slid out of bed and found a small transmitter on the desk. “Hello? Who’s this?” he answered cautiously.

There came the familiar sounds of a respirator. “Seriously?” Vader’s voice responded, sounding almost like _him_ but louder and deeper. “Whom are you expecting?”

“Dad! Why are you calling me like this? Why don’t you just—”

“Sometimes I feel I should avoid seeing what’s in your head, Son.” The Dark Lord’s voice sounded lighter. “I am aware that you are _still_ not up and dressed for the day, so—”

“Hey, this is my _vacation!_ I should be able to sleep in if I want.”

“Before you dress, collect the armor carryall on the sofa and—”

“Hey, how’d _that_ get here? You mean while I was _sleeping_ somebody snuck in? It better have been you and not the _stalker!_ And what’s an armor carryall?”

“The armorweave bodyglove should be put on first, then the armor on top of your clothing.”

“Armor? Why do I need—”

“Lightsaber practice. Dress and join me in my quarters. I will escort you to the hangar.”

 _“Hangar?_ You have _ships?”_

Vader disconnected. With a sigh, Luke decided to order a boringly healthy breakfast and take a shower. His dad could wait until after he ate.

 **OooOoo**

The under-armor bodyglove didn’t look too bad, though he wondered if he should’ve put on his briefs first because they looked silly on top of the woven grey armorweave, but he supposed his jumpsuit would hide them.

Most of it was obvious— and _black._ Chest plate and back plate hooked together on the shoulders, then pauldrons went on top. He felt very… _wide._ After he had them on he realized he couldn’t bend without them sliding and hitting his chin, so he took them off to do the legs—leather armored chaps covered his thighs and shins, and then boots that weighed so much he wasn’t sure if he could walk. He pulled the top half on again and added armored gloves that went to his elbows— but they had _buckles,_ how was he supposed to fasten _buckles_ on his arms with these bulky fingers— and that still left a really _really_ long leather strap-belt-thing that also seemed to be armored. 

_What would Janson do?_ he wondered. Maybe that wasn’t what Commander Narra meant when he told Luke there were Good Examples for him in the squad that he should follow, but this seemed like a great time to try one out.

He wrapped it around his head and throat, then over one shoulder and chest, over the other shoulder, across his chest again, and around his waist. There was still a lot of leather left, so he turned it around his waist several times until he could tuck in the end. Then came the helmet that thankfully had a clear face shield. He slipped on the sleeveless _white_ tunic that looked like it was created to appear old and battered— a cape would’ve been much more elegant!— and remembered to fasten on his lightsaber before clanking up the stairs to find his father.

Said father stared at him and put his hands on his waist. Luke imagined a very loud sigh though his dad did nothing but breathe.

“What?” he demanded defensively. “I did the best I could! Why do I have to wear all this stuff? I tried to fix it like my friend Wes would, but this— this long _thing_ is stupid!”

“The belt is _fashionable,”_ his dad said, which Luke didn’t believe for a minute but he gave Vader points for knowing he’d approve of that idea. “Why are you not wearing your cape?”

“I can’t wear _everything!_ I’m practically _waddling_ as it is!”

“Take off the helmet and the tunic.”

“Gladly!” he muttered. “And this bodysuit or whatever is too warm to wear on Yavin. I’d be sweaty and cranky all the time… and _then_ how would your spy’s pics turn out?”

His father grabbed the end of the scarf-belt-thing and _yanked_. Luke was caught off-balance and spun in a circle, then the leather tightened around his throat. He choked, trying to pry it off with his fingers before his dad released it.

“Hey! What’s the b-big idea?!” He coughed a few times, which reminded him of Wedge.

“That,” his father said in the smug tone that always drove Luke crazy, “is what a foe would do.”

“You could’ve just _told_ me,” Luke grumbled under his breath, then added: _“Fine!_ So fix it!”

Tunic went on first, then the belt over it, winding endlessly around his entire torso from armpit to groin. “This provides extra protective layers of armor and—”

“Why don’t you just seal me in a bag of fluff? That’d be _really_ protective.”

“—AND in these folds, you keep knives, blasters, your lightsaber when it needs to be hidden, and whatever else you want to—”

“Like snacks?”

He almost admired the way his dad could ignore him and keep talking. If only _he_ could do that.

“—carry. Now pull up the hood— no, farther over your forehead— then the helmet goes on. The clear face shield has the strength of transparent durasteel, so—”

“People can still see my gorgeous self!”

“There is a mirror in my dressing room. You may—”

“You have a dressing room? And a mirror?”

“I just said that!”

Oh-oh, Dad was getting cranky. Luke sent him a Happy Smile. “Okay! Let me look—” He waddled into the next room. “Oh! Wow… okay, I look amazing.” Really, he looked like a _pirate!_ Or… an awesome warrior! He looked _threatening!_ No one would ever mess with him when he was wearing this. Just wait until New Guy Quersey saw him!

Although… he would look more like a _don’t-mess-with-me_ warrior if he had a _mask_. And if he added his black cape, he would look a lot like his father. Huh.

“When am I supposed to wear this?” Was this his fight-Palpatine outfit?

“You are wearing it right now for lightsaber practice. With me.”

Yeah, probably a good idea to wear it, given that dueling seemed to get his dad all hot and bothered in a bad way. “Yeah, but—”

“And you will wear it whenever you are in battle.”

“Yeah, but— Dad, I’m a _pilot!”_

“Who is not flying.” The Dark Lord folded his arms. “And when you finally are allowed to fly again, you will wear the armorweave bodyglove beneath your flight suit.”

He’d just _said_ it was too hot on Yavin. Didn’t his dad listen? And besides— “Hey, am I supposed to wear underwear with this? Because it’s a little… uncomfortable.”

This time the vocoder _did_ heave a sigh instead of a regular breath. “Yes,” Vader said shortly. “If you have not, you must endure the discomfort without complaint.”

“Fine. And I’m not _complaining,_ I’m just asking! Why does everyone always think I’m complaining?” He followed his dad out of the penthouse. “I can’t change now anyway. It’d be too hard to get this all off. But what if I have to use the ‘fresher?”

“You do not.” Which sounded like either an order or a Force suggestion. Either way, now Luke couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Until they got to the hangar and he came to a dead stop. “Whoa! _Ships!”_

“Normally contained in a hangar.”

“Yeah, but….” These were _Imperial_ ships. Fighters, transports— the huge space was filled with battleware. TIE fighters! He was willing to bet (his dad’s) credits that the Emperor didn’t know Vader had all this stuff. “You’ve got an _army_ here!”

“And a navy.” Vader sounded pleased. “And no, _he_ doesn’t know.”

It was both exciting and disappointing because everything was the same old Imp stuff and he’d expected something novel, but then his dad gestured him onward and they passed into a smaller hangar. Four shuttles and a fancy model TIE, some with pieces and tools strewn around them. And one more, a design he’d never seen.

“This is _beautiful,”_ he exclaimed, running his hand along the extended nose. The entire ship was white, with closed compartments on either side that he assumed held some type of armament. It was sleek and compact, but he climbed inside and found room for two pilots, a head, a pull down cot, and even a galley that had a table and a couple chairs. “Wow. I don’t recognize the design. Where’s it from?”

“I built it.”

“What?” He stuck his head out the hatch. “The whole thing?”

“I designed it and had the pieces fabricated.” The helmet tilted to one side. “Only the main engine remains to be completed… if you wish to assist?”

“Are you kidding? Of _course_ I do!” He hopped with excitement and hurried to join his dad. “Can we take it out for a spin when we’re done?”

“It will take a few days in our spare time, provided you continue with your lessons. But yes.” Vader hesitated as if he was going to say something more, but only continued, “For now, we will practice here. Try not to strike the ships.”

“As _if,”_ he scoffed, but made a mental note to be very, very careful. “Could you show me the twirly thing first?”

“You are obsessed with that. Do not ignite your saber. Let me see how you’ve been practicing.”

“Okay.” He made some loops with the hilt, knowing they weren’t fast enough.

“Do not attempt to use your wrist exclusively.” Vader stood next to him and they worked through the moves in slow motion, Luke doing his best to copy his father exactly. “Yes, your entire lower arm should move. This is most useful to deflect blaster bolts while protecting yourself as it keeps the saber close to your body. Switch hands and try it.”

“My right hand doesn’t work very well,” he mumbled glumly, hating that his dad would see his terrible impairment. “It kinda hurts.”

Vader took hold of his wrist and popped open the control panel. For a second, Luke could see something change in the red lenses, like it was doing calculations.

“You need a minor adjustment.” A tiny tool flew across the hangar and into his dad’s hand. With surprising delicacy for a hand encased in such a big, heavy gauntlet, his father made a few tweaks that made Luke jump. “Be still.”

“I’m still!” He waited, impatient for his dad to finish so he could try his hand. He flexed it a few times, and the motions felt smoother. “I should learn how to fix it myself.”

“It’s difficult if not impossible to do on your own. Your vision and dexterity are limited in the small space. But I will work with you on improving your mechanics.”

Wow, his dad was in a good mood! A _weird_ mood, but it was a nice change. Now all he had to do was survive lightsaber training for an hour or so.

“All morning,” his father responded to his unspoken question. “And we will set aside time on other days to raise your skill level.”

Well, at least that meant they were spending _many_ days together. Luke lit his purple blade, and Vader ignited his own, holding it across his body.

He was ready, but then…. The world in front of him shimmered. He was no longer in the safety of a hangar, he saw… _he saw black and red and motionless terror before him, challenging, warning… lethal. There were people around him, screaming… and then… soldiers, Rebels, shouting, firing…. and then… just him, but he was different, he was— he was watching a monster approach, a shaft of glittering red— almost beautiful, so bright— and for a moment he was blinded, he was nothing… and then he was running in a forest and the trees were crashing behind him and there was a loud hum and he turned around… and then he was in a desert and he was—_

“Luke.”

 _He was Luke._ Blinking, he stared at his father who stood motionless with the saber in front of him.

“What did you see?”

What _had_ he seen? There was something familiar…. “I think I saw the ship… I don’t remember the name, where the princess was. From the vid I saw on Empire Day and… other places, people, beings…. They were watching you coming toward them and then....” And then each vision ended. “Maybe… does your lightsaber remember who it killed? Or— was it _you_ remembering? When you looked at me, did you see the others? For a moment, did you….?” He couldn’t ask the question because he couldn’t contemplate the idea that his father might see him as an enemy to be slaughtered— or simply someone who was standing in his way.

“I saw a lightsaber,” his father said slowly, “and yes, _for a moment_ I saw an enemy. But then I saw _you._ It may be wise to act cautiously today, begin our practice while maintaining a distance. Otherwise….”

 _Otherwise we might truly fight._ He shivered.

“Let us practice combat katas and approach slowly.” Vader continued as they assumed their first stance. “I knew of a Jedi who had a purple blade such as yours,” he added conversationally as though trying to defuse the tension.

“You did?” They shifted poses, moving in perfect unison. “Was he a spice addict?” Luke asked nervously.

“I don’t believe so.” Vader’s feet moved into an unpredicted position and Luke copied him. “However, he was not a Jedi of the Light Side.”

“He was Dark?” Luke exclaimed, mirroring a posture that crossed their blades overhead in a semblance of conflict.

“No. Neither Light nor Dark. He used to call himself ‘Light with a Temper’.” The tone was scornful. “Jump!”

Luke leaped high and Vader’s blade swung beneath him, withdrawn before he landed. “That was close!”

“Too close,” his father criticized. “You should have used that moment to also move back or to the side. Always be cautious and controlled when you jump. And _never_ jump toward an enemy who has the higher ground.”

“Why?” They resumed their practice positions.

“While you are in the air, your enemy can slice off your arms and legs,” his father said bluntly.

Luke held up one hand. “Wait. Is that what—“

“Yes, that is what happened to me. Kenobi had the higher ground, and he declared so.” Vader snorted. “In the moment, I thought he was speaking with arrogance about his higher _moral_ ground, but it turned out to be a literal warning.”

“He _warned_ you?”

“Possibly. I have often thought that the purpose of his ‘warning’, if that’s what it was, was to encourage my defiance as it sometimes did when I was his padawan.”

“Oh. You mean you were rebellious.” He was quiet for several minutes as their moves became more intricate. He tried his pirouette, and his father laughed a little before saying ‘good’, and Luke smiled.

And while he was distracted by the success of his move, Vader struck his arm. “Hey!” It was a heavy blow that made him stagger, but he felt no damage.

“Pay attention.” His dad took one step backward and waited. “Question?”

“So this armor deflects lightsabers?”

“Lightsaber _blows,_ ” the Dark Lord clarified. “I could, however, hold the saber tip against the armor and drill through in seconds.”

Luke frowned. “Is your armor like that too?”

“There is very little that can withstand the constant focus of a laser.” Which probably meant ‘yes’.

“Now, continue your katas alone so I may observe how well Kodra has instructed you.” The glaring saber switched off. “And later today, I will have my medical treatments. You may reconsider whether or not you wish to observe.”

“I want to,” he said shortly, then focused on doing his best. But after a few moves, he stopped, trying to formulate his question.

“What?”

His blade shut down. “If you don’t have synth skin, does that mean you don’t have artificial tissue replacement?”

“Yes.”

Luke flexed his right glove. “But I do. So my hand looks real and full, not like skin stretched across metal.”

“Yes.”

“This was replaced on the Devastator!” Didn’t his dad understand what he was getting at? “You could have this kind of replacement, too. Why don’t you? _He_ wouldn’t know.”

Vader folded his arms and leaned against the white ship. “I have had no reason to do it. No one would see, and it hasn’t mattered to me. And _he_ probably would know because my medical droid was furnished by him and undoubtedly keeps him informed.”

“Your medical droid.” Luke frowned. “So get an other medical droid, one that doesn’t report to him.”

“This one is an FX-6 and has been with me for seventeen years. I had a DD-13, but he had a regrettable… accident a few years ago.”

“Well, maybe the current one should have an _accident,_ too,” he suggested darkly, knowing exactly what his father meant. “It could fall off the platform… or you could send it to Mustafar to fall off _that_ platform.”

His father didn’t move, and Luke hoped he hadn’t hurt his feelings by mentioning that horrible planet. “And if the thing is seventeen years old, it’s ancient technology! You need a few one— an FX-7 or something better. In fact—” Now his mind was turning faster. “—you can get the artificial tissue and synth skin from the Devastator. I’ll bet Captain Piett would send it without telling _him_. Jovay could bring it. We could have it by tomorrow! I can supervise the droid and turn it off when it’s done— or maybe I can do the work myself— well, maybe not this first time. But you must have a better medical droid on the Devastator.”

“There are three 2-1B models aboard,” Vader said slowly.

“Okay, bring one here. Or even that awful doctor who replaced my hand. Why not? Let’s do it! You should have better hands! And arms. And legs. And... whatever.”

Vader was still, but Luke could feel something— nervousness?— radiating off him, though he didn’t immediately disagree. “Pleeeease?” Luke added a disarming smile, knowing his father liked his _pleeeeease_ pleas, especially when accompanied by a sweet expression.

“I suppose I could speak with Captain Piett….”

Yay, he won! “Can I say hi to him too? Or doesn’t he know I’m your kid? Oh, he must know by _now_ , right? Let’s call him!”

“If I do this and we put off my needs until tomorrow, you must work on meditation and mental gymnastics today,” Vader said, pretending to be stern.

“Okay.” He had no idea what ‘mental gymnastics’ were, but if it got his father to accept better medical treatment, he would do it. “Let’s go call Cap!”

His dad sighed, but Luke knew it was only pretense because he could feel his father’s… wow, was that _happiness_ he was feeling? 

He hooked his lightsaber on his belt and linked his arm with his dad’s— not that he could feel anything with all this armor on…

...which must be exactly what his dad didn’t feel.

“We’re gonna fix you up,” he declared, smiling at the black mask that maybe he wouldn’t have to see forever. There was a human face under it, and he wanted to see it and get to know his _real_ dad.

Whether his dad wanted him to or not.


	3. Fluff & Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father & son bonding, fluff, mentioned murder and threats (it’s Vader, after all) crack and more fluff. Maybe a little bit of cinnamon roll, but I refuse to tag it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to Luke’s ‘social evening’ is from [The Truth: Interludes, Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578542/chapters/59420017)

# # #

“Telekinesis,” his father said.

“You _know_ I’m good at that!” He waved at a few objects on his dad’s desk, sending them floating, trying not to let them crash into each other.

“You do not need to use your hand,” Vader reminded. “A gesture simply advises people that you are responsible, which is often useful. But practice using only your mind.”

“I _know!_ ” The desk lamp flew into the air and he stopped it and placed it back without a single gesture. “I want to learn something new! Why are we doing all this again?”

“Warm-ups. Prep. How about telepathy?”

“Still, no.” Luke sighed. “I can usually _feel_ what people may be thinking— except sometimes I’m totally wrong— but I can’t read their minds. Can you?”

“Just yours,” his father said, and Luke rolled his eyes.

“Daaaad—”

“I can read it at this moment, and you should be more respectful.”

Luke giggled. His father could make him feel like a child, and he didn’t mind at all.

“I know you can influence people, Luke. That was a talent you discovered early.”

He nodded eagerly. “And it’s fun! Although… I know I shouldn’t do it very much, it’s not nice.” His dad felt skeptical, so he added daringly: “I’ll bet I can do it with you.”

Vader’s helmet turned directly toward him. “Perhaps you think that you made me forget about the death threat to which you referred?”

“Oh. That. No, not at all. I just need to… um….”

“Stall,” the Dark Lord observed. “Avoid answering my question. It will do you no good. I know it was the two generals who were so abruptly moved to the Rebel base on Arda.”

Luke frowned. “I didn’t know that’s where they went.”

“Lucky for me that I did not recruit you as a spy,” Vader said darkly.

Luke rolled his eyes again.

“At any rate, you will have no more worries about them. They will be dealt with shortly.”

“What?! You’re _not_ gonna kill them! No!” he shouted. “I don’t like them either, but you don’t have to _kill_ them! Seriously— I feel like I can’t tell you _anything_ because you always want to kill somebody!”

“Particularly those somebodies who threaten your life.”

“Yeah, but still—”

“Tell me then, Son, what would you do if the situation were reversed?”

He clucked in annoyance. “Fine. Never mind. Forget it. They’ve been reassigned, so leave them alone. Can’t you get through one day without threatening to kill someone? Sheesh.”

“Perhaps. But it is too late for them and the Rebel base on Arda.” The helmet tilted and Luke knew his father was feeling through the Force. “Yes… too late.”

His stomach clenched and he shuddered. “Was it a… big base? How many people…?”

“It matters not. I am at war, and they are the enemy.”

“They’re not _my_ enemy!”

“When you command the Imperial fleet, you may take whatever steps you wish and make whatever alliances you prefer. However, until that day, I am in command and they are my enemy.” His father folded his arms. “Go to the dressing room and remove all your armor and clothing and redress. Undergarments first.”

Luke flushed, both in embarrassment and anger. Dodonna and Willard and who knew how many Rebellion troops were _dead_ , and his dad was talking about _underwear!?_

“Focus on _now._ What transpired is over, you cannot change it. _Focus.”_

Knowing that was true didn’t make ignoring it any easier. “You haven’t attacked _my_ base, have you? And you _won’t_ while I’m here, right?”

“I will not. Of course,” Vader added with a faint hint of amusement, “that would be my insurance to keep you here, would it not?”

“By _threatening_ my friends? Is that how you expect to win my loyalty?” Anger crept along his nerve endings.

 _“Expect?_ My son, have you withdrawn your loyalty to me?”

Well, great, just great. “No!” he snapped. “I just— you just— you shouldn’t threaten me like that! You should let me be here because I _want_ to be, not because you force me.”

“A fair point. But Luke, you know it will happen one day. Your base will be attacked. You cannot hide from the Empire forever.”

He stared at his hands, interlacing the heavy gloves and squeezing. “You’ll warn me though, right? In time for us to evacuate?”

“If I’m able.”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you be?” He looked up at the mask that was, for once, unreadable to him.

“There are ways to circumvent my command,” Vader said slowly. “Informants… traitors… even rogue captains who believe a victory will prevent my retaliation for their unwanted initiative.”

“Oh.” Too many possibilities. Now he had another thing to worry about. Which reminded him— “Hey, you didn’t kill the clerk in the fancy store, did you? Where I was shopping? I forgot his name.”

“His name, young one, is Rialtan Antily and he was the fortunate recipient of a two-year Imperial scholarship—”

“Really? Wow, thank you!” He would’ve hugged his dad if he wasn’t mad about the destruction of the Alliance base.

“—in exchange for ten years’ service in the Imperial Navy.”

Luke stared. “You’re kidding. That’s awful. _Ten years?!_ He’ll be elderly by the time he gets out. Daaad!”

“He didn’t have to accept. And now, go.” One finger pointed to the dressing room. “You must practice getting into your armor until you can do it quickly.”

Obviously his dad was going to persist. Luke groaned. “It’s not the _armor_ that’s so bad, it’s this body-suit-glove thing. Do you know how _hard_ it was to get it on?!”

“Obviously, since I also wear one. What seems to be your problem with it?”

“Well, first of all—” Luke spread his hands apart a few inches. “—it’s like _this_ size. It looks like it was made for a _baby!_ And the neck is so _small!_ I could hardly pull the whole thing up! There’s no way I would’ve gotten it over briefs! I mean, it was bad enough trying to get over my legs and hips— I should have oiled myself first! Good thing it’s so stretchy or I would’ve gotten stuck and been trapped and been terminally humiliated!”

Vader rose and stood, arms akimbo, but said nothing.

“What?! _Seriously!_ It was really _hard_ to get on! And then trying to get it untwisted and over my chest and wriggle my arms into the sleeves— Who invented such a stupid thing?”

The black helmet turned to one side and the breathing hitched.

“Are you okay?” Suddenly concerned, he reached toward his father but the Dark Lord stepped back.

The breathing changed again as if the vocoder couldn’t contend with words.

“What? What’s wrong?” He began to panic. He shouldn’t have asked his dad to put off his medical treatment for another day! What if his father—

Finally Vader inhaled deeply. “Luke… the bodyglove is in two pieces.”

“No it isn’t! Not the one you gave me. It’s… one piece.” Wasn’t it? Now he wasn’t sure.

“Two,” Vader said distinctly. “It self-seals at the waist. You need only pull it apart to have a top and a bottom. You put on one half at a time.”

“No.” Luke pursed his lips. Well. It seemed unlikely he would have missed that. “Self-seals?”

“Mm.”

“Two pieces?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Now he knew that what he thought was his dad choking was actually suppressed laughter. Indignant, he scowled at his father… then realized that his dad seeing humor in the image of him trying to pull on the entire body suit from his feet up was an improvement on his usual attitude. “You’d better not have a spy snap of that!”

“It is fortunate, then, that the spy is not here because the spy would have blown their cover by laughing.”

“Fine!” With a resigned sigh, he surrendered himself to a giggle and leaned his head against his dad’s upper arm, feeling answering laughter from somewhere deep inside Vader. It felt great to make his father happy, and he was pretty sure he was the only person in the galaxy who could do that. “Okay, but don’t watch! You don’t have cameras in there, do you?”

“No, Luke, your antics are quite safe from observation in my dressing room.”

“They’d better be.” It was a threat, but not really because he softened it with a grin and a light punch to his dad’s shoulder— which would have hurt if he hadn’t been wearing these gigantic armored gauntlets.

The dressing area was huge, which made sense, with lots of black garments on hangers and stacked in clear drawers. There were mirrors showing every angle, and Luke wondered if his dad ever swooshed his cape around to practice moving it elegantly. Probably. He decided he’d inherited his love of clothing and that the next time his dad criticized his shopping, he’d remind him of this closet. And ask if he had matching closets on Mustafar and the Devastator.

He stripped everything off, making a messy pile on the floor and the bench, then restarted dressing, underwear first this time. He tugged carefully on the bodyglove and sure enough it gradually unpeeled from itself. It was _much_ easier to put on when it was two pieces, and he laughed at himself.

Once the Thing was on, he just _had_ to drape one of his dad’s capes across his shoulders. It spread around him on the floor like a pool of black oil. “You sure have a lot of capes!” he called. “Can I try one on?”

“I know you are already wearing it.”

 _Of course you do_. He admired himself for a few moments, but it was just too heavy and overwhelming. He rehung it carefully, smoothing the heavy fabric, and started to count the capes. But one looked different and he pulled at it. It was— _What??_

The black _dress?_ Erm... _robe?_ From his wonderful social evening experiment on the Devastator?! He couldn’t believe his dad had kept it— and then he wondered if his dad ever wore it. Well, why not? When he was in his personal quarters, why wear all the heavy armor and fiddly tunics and belts and whatever?

Maybe he wouldn’t mention to his dad that he’d seen it and not give him the chance to say ‘no’. He’d just bring it out tomorrow after the treatments.

Finishing the entire ensemble— the armor seemed much easier to move around in now that he was getting used to it— he presented himself for inspection. His father made him turn in a slow circle, so Luke struck a few modeling poses, earning something between a sigh and a chuckle.

“Good. Now do it again.”

“You mean the runway spin or—?”

“The armor. Practice off and on once more, then you may remove it for the rest of the day.”

That really reminded him of being younger and Aunt Beru telling him he couldn’t play until he ate all his veggies. He wondered if his grandmother had used that on his dad. So he went through the entire process again. Admittedly, it went faster this time. After another inspection and being told to leave the bodyglove on under his jumpsuit, he returned to sit on the sofa with his father. He grabbed a small cushion and pushed it against his dad’s thigh, then stretched out and pillowed his head on it.

And waited to see if he’d get shoved away.

“Are you quite comfortable?”

“Quite, thanks.” He closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep. “It’s time for my one question of the day.”

“Indeed? Then what were all the other questions today?”

“Warm-ups. Prep. You know.” He shifted sideways and bent his knees, burrowing against the sofa back. “Okay, so here it comes…. What do _you_ want?”

“Right now?”

“No. In general. What do you want?”

There was a pause that made him think Vader might take the question seriously. “I want to overthrow the Emperor and rule the galaxy my way. With you at my side.”

Luke sighed. That was the premeditated answer. “Yeah, but… what do _you_ want?”

“That _is_ what I want.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You begin too many statements with ‘yeah but’. It is a bad habit.”

“Yeah—” He sighed. “Okay, however… that’s not the kind of answer I’m looking for. I mean _you_ — don’t get mad, but I mean Darth Anakin Skywalker Vader. What do you want?”

“Luke….”

For a half-second he thought he might have crossed the line by using the Anakin name, but after a hesitation, his father continued, “I have what I want. I have power, and now I have my son. I cannot hope for more.”

“Yeah, but— _however,_ what if you _could_ hope for more? Just pretend.”

“Pretend that everything that has happened did not happen?”

“No,” he said slowly. “What transpired is over, remember?”

“You remember and quote far too much of what I say.”

“Only certain things.” He grinned, then sobered. “Don’t pretend about the past. Pretend about the future. If your choices were unlimited, if the past and present didn’t define the future, what would you do?”

“What would _you_ do?” his father teased. “Your future _is_ unlimited.”

“Nuh-uh.” He swatted his dad’s knee—carefully because he wasn’t sure where the flesh ended and the prosthetic began. “Don’t switch it around. I want to know about _you._ Would you be a pilot? An officer? A farmer? A—”

 _“Farmer?”_ Vader exclaimed in mock horror, making Luke snort. “What do you take me for? …. Well… I suppose I would do something involving flying. Or maybe racing.”

 _“Racing?!”_ He sat up and hugged the pillow to his chest. “Really?”

Vader looked at him. “Would you like to have a plushie?”

“What? No!” Luke replaced the pillow against his dad’s leg. “I’m too old for a toy.” Although….

“Very well.” The voice filled with satisfaction. “There is a galactic racing circuit. I could— _we_ could travel from planet to planet. I would of course win, and you would of course come in second—”

“HAH!”

“We would live on our winnings, building faster ships. We would be renowned as—”

“Skyflyers?” Luke suggested.

“Perhaps.”

Huh. So even in his fantasies, his dad wanted glory and fame. “Would we ever settle down somewhere? How old are you? I mean now, not in your fantasy.”

“Forty.”

 _“Forty?_ That’s _all?_ I thought you were older!”

“Did you? Why?” The tone sounded affronted.

“Because you’ve accomplished so much,” he answered quickly. “So… then would we be alone? Or would… I mean, since you’re only forty, you could get married again and have more kids.”

Vader shrugged, not dismissing the idea.

Luke frowned. “But I would always be your favorite.” That sounded a little selfish. “But I would take care of the little ones sometimes so you and Mom could go out.”

“‘Mom’?”

Oh. Was he getting carried away? “Uh… maybe?”

“Sometimes I see a woman,” Darth Vader murmured dreamily, and Luke realized his dad must have thought about this fantasy before. “I can’t see her face. She’s tall… long dark hair… she likes to fly, too.” His father visibly shook himself. “Or maybe she’s _your_ mate.”

Okay, that was skirting the edges of _weird_ territory. Why would his father dream about a girlfriend for his son? “I don’t want a girlfriend,” he blurted, before thinking through _that_ declaration. “I mean… I don’t want anybody.”

The glove patted the pillow, and Luke laid his head down again and curled up. “You’re young,” his father said, “and you may change your mind. Or you may not. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re happy.”

 _That’s what I want for you, too._ They were silent as Vader’s last sentence echoed around them. “I guess that’s what counts,” Luke said eventually. “That we try for happiness.”

“Yes. That, and the Empire.” With a sigh, his dad shifted the pillow slightly, then draped his arm over Luke’s shoulder. “What about you? What brings you happiness?”

He smiled. “This. Being with you. My dad. And… I’m happy with my life right now. I like working on ships even if I don’t get to fly. And I like having friends— the ones who like me, I mean. They don’t all like me.”

“Just _who_ doesn’t like you?”

The demand made him laugh. “Dad, not everybody likes everybody. And… you know, I guess I can be kinda high maintenance, plus I lie so much that it’s hard for some of them to trust me. But some do.”

“Like your friend Wes.”

“Yes! And Zev. And even Commander Narra. You’d like him.”

“As long as he keeps being good to you. And,” Vader added sternly, “keeps you in line. He is an inconsistent disciplinarian.”

Luke sighed. He’d protest, but he didn’t want to move. He wanted to keep feeling the weight of his dad’s arm on his shoulder and staring at the big glove that dangled loosely off the sofa in front of him. “This is nice.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “Maybe we could be pirates, too. Or smugglers. Racing could be our cover story.”

“A possibility.”

“You know….” He decided to go for a cautious suggestion. “We could do all this in another galaxy. We could be explorers.”

“Enough!” His dad’s voice changed and he twisted around, grabbed Luke’s shoulders and sat him up. “Pleasant as fantasizing is, we have a _real_ galaxy that is in turmoil. We cannot abandon it.”

“Yeah, we could.” He was grumpy about being moved. Still, his dad’s tolerance level seemed to be rising. “Let everybody figure out their own problems. We’re just two people— what can _we_ do about it?”

“You’re not serious.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “Then let’s kill the Emperor first and _then_ let everybody sort it out. _We_ don’t have to do it! We should be able to live whatever lives we want!”

Vader stood and straightened his cloak. “Captain Jovay will arrive during the night. You should get some sleep. You will have a long and difficult day tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He didn’t want this time to end, but obviously his dad was Over It. Anyway, he was exhausted, too. He wasn’t the only one who was high maintenance. Keeping a grin on his face, he hugged the stiff form of his father. “Night, Dad! You get some sleep, too.”

There was no reply, not that he’d really expected one. His dad’s moods changed faster than a speeding comet. Still, it had been a pretty good day. Except for the Rebel base. Well….

Never mind. _What transpired is over._ He decided to make both of them smile one more time tonight and called over his shoulder as he left:

“I wouldn’t actually _mind_ a plushie if you just happened to have one around.”


	4. Stuff ‘n’ Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Luke’s supervision and brilliant ideas, Vader receives his bacta treatment and some unexpected, but not unwanted, changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: Sorry/not sorry, it’s a flippant name for a serious chapter, but once those words fell into my head, I couldn’t shake them out again. The drugs are from Wookieepedia. The medical stuff is invented. The fluff is father & son.
> 
> Vader’s unusual acquiescence and passivity in this chapter are partly explained in [“The Truth: Interludes, Chapter 8: Through Vader’s Eyes”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578542/chapters/60690832) (in case you haven’t read it) which described Vader’s thoughts during his reunion with Luke in Chapter 1. He needs someone (Luke) to make decisions for him. When you begin life as a slave and and spend most of your adult life as the Emperor’s thrall, it’s hard and a little scary to make decisions for your own well-being.

# # #

“It is a pleasure to serve you again, sir,” TwoOneBee said, his voice smooth and soothing.

“I don’t know that I’d call it a ‘pleasure’,” Luke mumbled under his breath.

The medical droid turned to him, but his father interjected before he could speak, “TwoOneBee and FX-6, this is Garven. He is learning to assist. Instruct and obey him as you would me.”

 _Garven?_ Luke sent an appalled look at his father. _I’m Garven now? Another name to remember? And really, Dad, do you think FX-6 OBEYS you?_

_Here, in front of droids and my troopers, you cannot be known by any personal identifier that you have previously used._

_But why Garven? Why not something more— more— colorful? More ME?_

_It is the first name of one of your commanders. I have hope that you will be able to remember it._

Fine. Okay, it was Boss’s name, not that he ever used it. _I could’ve picked a name myself!_ His indignant protest was ignored, probably because his dad knew it would’ve taken him forever to pick out a name that he liked. And it would have been something like Starflyer. Or BrightStar. Or—

He coughed on a breath.

“I _told_ you the rooms are now highly oxygenated,” Vader scolded as he handed him the respirator. “You may need this until you learn to control your inhalations. They must be shallow, which is in opposition to what your lungs will demand. I have kept the oxygen pressure as low as possible while still allowing me to breathe adequately. If you begin to feel dizzy or nauseous— if you feel _any_ physical reactions, use the respirator.”

“Okay, okay. I don’t need it yet. You can raise the pressure— it needs to be right for you.” Stubbornly, he placed the respirator on the table and looked down at his seated father, uncertain how to begin.

“You will assist the droids as you wish. However, my primary purpose is to allow you to see the extent of my injuries and….” Vader sighed. “How pointless is your desire to free me from my suit.”

Luke rubbed his hands together nervously. “Well… if we can’t get rid of it, then I was thinking that maybe we could spray-paint your armor. To another color, y’know? Like white… or blue with little gold stars.”

The vocoder issued a bark of laughter, which was what he’d hoped to hear. “I truly believe you are Padme’s son.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.” But he was pleased that his dad could speak her name so easily. They must have been happy, even if they were both working with the Chancellor to subvert the Republic. That whole idea seemed weird, but he was afraid to ask about it.

He couldn’t imagine what his dad’s life was like now without her and with what he went through, but he was about to get an idea. _Be careful what you wish for,_ one of them advised, and he shrugged. “Where do we start?”

“The helmet. You may release the clasps. Let the droids deal with the mask. And Garven—”

 _Who me?_ Smirking, he focused on the lenses.

“This is not a slow process. We must be as swift as possible. If at any time you wish to leave, do so. It is not pleasant to observe.”

Judging by the schematics and descriptions, that was an understatement. He nodded, and they began.

His father was right; it didn’t take long until Vader was stripped down to his body glove. It was very thick, presumably to pad the metal and take the place of artificial tissue, and he was interested in examining the fabric—

“Go.”

Hesitating, Luke said nothing, but for the first time— after his initial brief, reluctant glance— he looked directly at his father’s face. His head was bald and bisected with scar tissue. His face was pale from lack of exposure to natural air, but still pinked with blood flow, scarred but unlined, the face of a forty-year-old man. But his eyes….

His eyes were golden as if they had absorbed all the rays of the Tatooine suns. Strange, Luke had been sure they would be like his, pale blue and sparkling, even though he’d seen the gold a few times in their meditations. But in person, the color was… sad and angry. “Why?” he asked, and wasn’t sure if he was questioning the command or wondering about the color. Or both.

“I do not want you to observe any longer.”

“You said—”

“I have altered our agreement!” Without the vocoder-assisted voice, the order wasn’t nearly as intimidating as it would have been.

“No, I’m staying. I want to be here for you.” Still, Luke needed to be respectful. “But I’ll turn around and not look.” He slid down to the floor with his back leaning against the bacta tank.

His father didn’t reply, but he heard metallic sounds and knew the limbs were being removed. “May I examine them?” He nodded in the direction of the prostheses.

“Yes.”

Waiting until the sound of the servo-lift told him his father was being lowered into the tank, he called a leg to him. It was heavier than he’d thought it would be, but it was hard to concentrate on the mechanics while listening to the bubbling emitting from the tank and the motors of the hovering droids. _How do you bear it?_ he wondered, not meaning to Send.

_I bear it because I must. It is reality._

He sighed, turning the leg over in his hands. _These could be made of a different alloy._

_They must carry the weight of my armor._

_Durasteel? That’s what they should be._

_They are not._

_I know. Still… it looks like your boot heels rub against the metal. The patina is dull there. And at the knee joints._ He put the leg aside and examined the life support unit. _The relays look out of date. Has it been upgraded since…?_

_Only small changes I have been able to make myself without Sidious’s knowledge. Insulation, primarily._

Luke frowned. _When he’s gone, we can do more._

_Luke…._

The tone made him quiver with anxiety. “What?”

_See me._

_You mean…._ Turn around. Turn around and look. His brain couldn’t pre-imagine what he would see. Intellectually, he _knew_ , but his heart didn’t _want_ to know and, really, his eyes didn’t _want_ to see.

He turned and looked up, barely able to see through the thick bacta fluid. Or maybe it was his tears that blurred his vision. He wasn’t certain.

A burn-ravaged torso. Legs missing above the knees. Arms gone above the elbows. All of the limbs ended unnaturally flat and even, neatly sliced off. Skin scarred and torn and patchy, necrotic tissue floating in bacta as the remains were scraped by a robotic arm.

He wanted to give in to his grief, but this time it wasn’t about _his_ feelings. He met his dad’s eyes above the hoses and respirators he wore in the tank. They seemed a little bluer now, but even as he thought it they shimmered back into blindingly bright gold.

 _I love you,_ was all he could think to say.

 _Your love makes me WEAK,_ was the thought that fired back at him, and he flinched at the unexpected accusation.

_What?_

_RAGE! REVENGE!_ Vader thrashed in the tank, and FX-6 hurried over to unkink the hoses. _THEY are the source of my courage! THEY sustain my life! And now your love— and my love for you— has made me weak!_

Luke scrambled to his feet. “What the hell—? What are you giving him?”

TwoOneBee hesitated, almost as though he waited for the older droid to answer, but finally he said: “It is Lord Vader’s regular tank dose of dimalium-6 combined with kouhunin.”

“I want to know what those are. Stop the dosing.”

“Sir Garven—”

“Stop them and explain.”

“Kouhunin is a neurotoxin that controls pain. My Lord’s suit constantly administers highly diluted amounts. During this process we administer extra to control his pain. It is quite safe and absolutely necessary.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be working,” Luke said grimly. Cautiously, he touched his mind to his father’s and sent calming messages, dulling his dad’s pain senses as best he could manage. “What’s the other one?”

“Dimalium-6 affects his mood while in the tank and also alleviates some of his memories of the process. It is standard procedure specified when he was originally injured.”

“Stop both of them, I said.” He was no medical student, but one of his tapes mentioned the dangers of psychotropic drugs, and this dimalium-6 sounded like one. He wasn’t sure what a neurotoxin was, but it sounded bad. Monitoring his father’s mood and pain level, he held his breath as the drip slowed and stopped.

 _Dad._ He laid his palm against the tank. _Love can make you stronger. Love can heal—_

_No! You try to make me into someone I am not!_

_You WANT to be better, I know you do._

An exclamation went unheard, then Vader declared, misunderstanding: _YOU are not my conscience._

 _And you are not MINE!_ Immediately he regretted his response. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be his father. He’d thought he’d known and that he could change him, but maybe Wes was right… _you can’t change anyone. You either accept them the way they are, or you don’t._

 _I’m sorry,_ he Sent, truly contrite. _I meant your PAIN could get better— be less. I just want you to feel better and happier and…._

_You want a life with me. And you want ME to want that also._

The obvious was stated so starkly that it reminded him of Jovay’s words: _It’s always personal._ Yeah, it was. So what?

_Father… yes, I want it for both of us._

_And if I say that I am ‘happier’ without you? What will you do then?_

_What kind of test is this?_ he wondered wildly. _Are you trying to hurt me? Push me away?_

Oh.

Yes, of course, that’s exactly what he was doing. The Dark Lord had let his son see too much, made himself too vulnerable, and now he was… afraid. That _fear_ again— fear of losing, fear of living with loss, fear of being together, fear of being alone. There was no way, perhaps, to conquer that fear. Except persistence.

Luke sighed. Maybe he could distract his father’s pain and fury. _Fine. If you don’t want to talk about you, let’s talk about me. What are you going to teach me while I’m here? Or are we just going to argue?_

He could feel the vice-like grip of pain dwindling in his dad; he didn’t know if his concentration was helping or if the withdrawal of the medication had lessened the agony and confusion. “TwoOneBee, he’s doing better without those drugs.”

“Yes. Strange that they have been continued unnecessarily for so many years.”

“Yeah. Strange.” He glared at FX-6, but the droid was impervious to his accusation.

The silence lengthened. He refocused on his father’s face, embarrassed to look too closely at the rest of him, and watched as his dad was raised, dripping bacta, then lifted over a tub drain and hosed off like he was a piece of dirty equipment. Winced as more dead tissue was scrubbed away. _I think—_ the voice in his head subsided in a spasm of agony before it resumed, _—we will continue with lightsaber training, but I wish to work more on your mental strengths. Particularly blocking and object control— things that Yoda should have focused on to a greater extent._

 _Okay._ Whatever ‘object control’ was. Since his father was back to his usual reasonable self and had let him see this much, Luke figured he could watch more closely as the limbs were reattached, studying the circuitry and neuroconnections, filing the details away so he could study them later and maybe find some solutions. 

He reached over and switched off FX-6. The droid froze in place, lights blinking out.

TwoOneBee looked at him with some alarm. “Thank you,” Luke said. “You’re hired. You’ll stay as Lord Vader’s medic wherever he travels. Do you need an assistant? This old one seems to be broken.”

“No, Sir Garven. But I am disturbed by my rationale that allowed me to accept the usage of unnecessary medication.”

“Well, next time, question! Don’t accept the word of an old FX unit.”

“Thank you, sir. Indeed, my programming is far superior to the FX models.”

“I’ll bet.” The droid sounded like his dad. They should get along well. He turned his attention back to Vader. “You want to try the artificial tissue replacement and synth skin?”

“Only one area this time.” Evidently uncomfortable with his nudity, his father draped the bodyglove over his torso. Which was just fine with Luke. Too Much Information that he didn’t want to know or see. Anyway, it was hard enough to look at the mechanics that went into his body to replace his organs without seeing any farther south.

“Good idea. How about your feet?”

“Excellent suggestion, Sir Garven,” TwoOneBee chimed in. “As your feet bear the weight of the armor, My Lord, they are the most vulnerable to damage, and I see— that is, Sir Garven pointed out that there is damage to the heels.”

Vader nodded. “The feet have been replaced several times.”

“How does this tissue stuff work?” Luke leaned forward.

“I will simply inject the material into the cavities. It hardens very quickly and you will be able to test the feet immediately. The procedure is easily reversible if done within a few hours. After that, it becomes a lengthier process.”

“And he can still wear the bodyglove over it??”

“Of course. The material merely fills in the space between and around the prosthesis, then the synth skin covers it all. A glove is needed over the torso to protect the life support inserts, but it is not strictly necessary for any of the limbs. It does, however, add another level of protection.”

In his head, Luke began designing a torso-glove. It could be in colors and have patterns or match his—

“No to you, Garven,” Vader said, then nodded to the droid, “but yes to you.”

He and Luke watched as the pale pink foam oozed out of the hose attachment. It hardened almost immediately.

“Okay, don’t go anywhere!” Luke jumped up. “I’ll be right back!”

“Where would I go?”

By the time he returned with the black robe, both his father's feet were done and he was standing, the bodyglove tied around his waist. “Wow, that looks great! How does it feel?”

“Strange, but….” His dad was staring at his feet. They looked like real human feet at the end of metal legs. He took a couple tentative steps, then resumed his usual firm stride. “Good.”

It was a relief to see him moving easily. Luke felt a little dizzy and grabbed the respirator from the table to cover his nose and mouth.

“I will lower the oxygen level.”

“No, no, you’re fine!” His dad shouldn’t be made even more uncomfortable. When his breathing steadied, he removed it but kept it close by. “I was just excited.”

TwoOneBee’s head turned. “We have a large quantity of the tissue material, My Lord. Do you wish to have more injected?”

He and Vader held a stare. “What the hell.” Luke shrugged. “Why not go all the way?”

“Legs next,” his dad ordered. “And I see what you have there, Sir Garven. A _dress.”_

“It’s a _robe.”_ Pink stuff began to ooze into the lower legs and drip on the floor and TwoOneBee became flustered.

“Sir Garven, I believe I need FX-6’s assistance.”

“I’ll do it!” No way were they letting the Emperor’s droid see what was happening. Luke sat on the floor and scooted closer, smoothing the goo evenly on the metal, first with his finger— a bad idea— and then he found a spatula. “This is kinda like making mud. You take dirt and water and mix it together. Very cool. My friend Wes and I built a mud castle behind the barracks. Well, I guess it was more like a little hut than a castle. Tiny. We used a bowl.”

“So your friend Wes is about ten years old?”

Luke clucked chastisingly. “Tease me too much and you’ll have a lump of tissue sticking out of your calf.”

“It can be shaved down, Sir Garven,” TwoOneBee advised seriously.

“Good to know.”

The process went fairly quickly, and Luke felt a deep disquiet in his heart knowing that this could have been done at any time in the last seventeen years. As he’d suspected before, it wasn’t just the Emperor who kept Darth Vader imprisoned; his dad did a fine job of that himself.

When the legs were completed and synth skin had been layered over them, they began with his hands and arms.

“If not today, at some point, My Lord,” TwoOneBee said, “you may wish to have synth skin cover the scars on your torso and skull.”

“At some point. Perhaps later this week. Or upon my next treatment.”

Hmm. “TwoOneBee,” Luke asked slowly, “if he has synth put over his unsealed wounds now, would the synth skin have to be removed and the dead skin still need to be sluffed off next time?”

“Unlikely,” the droid said. “When his skin is freshly cleaned as it is now, the synth should adhere to the original skin and prevent further decay. I would need to inject tissue replacement in concave areas.”

Vader rubbed his chin in contemplation— and started a little when his new hand touched his face. Luke bit his lip, torn between laughter and dismay.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The original skin might reject the synth. That would happen within the first few days.” The droid paused. “And, of course, the forehead area may need to be replaced from time to time as the synth skin is loosened because of needles in the mask puncturing tiny holes.”

Luke didn’t mean to make an appalled squeak and squeezed his mouth tightly closed— too late. The droid and his father looked at him. “I forgot about the needles,” he admitted miserably.

“They’re very thin,” his father reassured him and then added something that wasn’t reassuring at all: “The sensation is no worse than plucking hairs.”

_ “Plucking hairs?  _ That’s awful! It  _ hurts! _ I had to do that when I started to grow a beard!”

Vader tilted his head in a display of skepticism. “Luke, I see no signs of a beard and I highly doubt that you did, or ever will, grow one.”

“Shows what you know,” he mumbled resentfully. “It was last year.”

“How unfortunate that you had a painful experience.” TwoOneBee seemed genuinely sympathetic. “Were there many hairs involved?”

He felt his face heat. “Not… a ton.”

“How many exactly? If it was a large quantity, I could inject a follicle inhibitor—”

_ “One! _ Okay, it was  _ one _ hair! But pulling it out hurt. I don’t need an injection of anything!”

“I regret that you had to endure such agony, my son,” Darth Vader said without a hint of the amused sarcasm that Luke knew was in his mind.

“Thank you.” He lifted his chin in a posture of affronted dignity. “Now you understand how I could relate… well, why I don’t like the idea of needles in your head.  _ Needles!” _

TwoOneBee must have decided this small crisis was over. “May I make a recommendation, sirs?”

His dad gestured with one hand and then looked at the hand. Luke could feel his astonishment and… well, that was _delight_ whether Vader would admit it or not.

“If you intend to stay here for multiple days, I would have the opportunity to evaluate the efficacy of the treatment.”

“Then let’s do it.”

As long as he lived, he would never be sure which one of them made that decision. It didn’t matter to TwoOneBee, though. He waited while Vader lowered the bodyglove bottom. Eyes shut tightly, Luke handed him the black dress and turned around. Nope, still TMI.

“This will take awhile. My Lord, would you prefer to have light sedation?”

“Is it going to hurt?” Luke asked quickly.

“No, Sir Garven. It simply requires patience.”

“That’s a challenge, Da— My Lord. But you can do it!”

“Very well.”

As minutes ticked past, he could see that the extended treatments were finally tiring his father. It wasn’t fair that Vader had suffered so much. No wonder he was angry. And that thought made him think about what his father had said: _Your love— and my love for you— has made me weak!_

His initial reaction had been to reject the idea, but now he considered it. Love— his father finally admitted his feelings— was attachment, and both Jedi and Sith said attachment was a weakness. But Vader had said that Sith sometimes had families. There was still so much that was confusing to him.

He put on the respirator and closed his eyes, settling back to wait.

# # #

This was more than he had hoped for. He really hadn’t believed that Vader would concede to everything. The agreeableness was almost puzzling, but he should take advantage of it and wondered what else he should ask for. He studied his father, absorbing the sight of his mask-free face. There was an artificial dimple in the chin that mirrored the scarred one that had been barely visible. The bald head was smooth and perfect now that the terrible scars had been covered. Maybe his dad could get some hair attached. He’d ask TwoOneBee about that later.

His dad’s voice was a little thready and hoarse, but oh-so-human. Luke decided to do more research to see if something could be done to repair or replace his vocal chords and the rest of his interior, but the exterior sure looked better, even encased in the bodyglove with the big dress on top— _robe_ , he had to remember to say _robe._ The sunshine eyes were distracting, especially since he could swear he could see flickers of blue now and then, but the contentment in them couldn’t be disguised.

If only his dad’s internal organs could be healed as easily. But at least what had been done today should be a morale booster. Maybe his dad would stop killing people for no reason. “You should get your quarters on the Devastator pumped with this oxygen so you can take off the helmet when you’re there.”

“Mmm.”

Treatments completed, they rested, leaning back against the sofa, listening to TwoOneBee gliding around cleaning equipment. “I’m gonna take that FX-6 apart and see if I can find any spy stuff.”

His dad chuckled. “I’ll assist.”

Luke wondered which voice he’d hear in his head when he thought about his dad in the future— the booming Vader vocoder or this softer tone that held an edge of mischief in it. His father’s head rested on his shoulder in a startling display of vulnerability. Luke curved his arm under the chin and gently patted the tender new skin that stretched around the skull.

His dad jerked. Luke gasped. “Oh, krit! Did that hurt you? I’m sorry!”

“No.” Vader relaxed again. “No one has… the last touch I felt on my head was Padme’s.”

“Oh.” _My mother._ All these years. He felt incredibly protective and sad. He’d never known the touch of his mother and never would. “Let me try something.” He turned sideways and sat cross-legged. “Can you tell the difference?” He laid his prosthetic hand on one cheek and his real one on the other.

After a few moments of consideration, his father said, “Yes. Your original hand is more textured and slightly warmer. It is not a great difference, however.”

Good, because he’d always wondered and hadn’t wanted to ask a friend, not even Wes. Although now maybe he could. 

He felt his father staring at him. He stared back.

“How do I look?” they both asked at once.

Luke grinned. “You look amazing. When we get your breathing fixed and some hair, you can walk around without the helmet and slay people with your good looks instead of your lightsaber.”

His father actually laughed. “I doubt that.”

“Yeah, you could. But what about _me?”_ he blurted. “I know you have holos, but how do I look in person?”

“About the same as in the holos.” Vader teased, then relented at Luke’s scowl. “Your eyes are very blue and clear. Your hair needs a trim. Your face is perfect. I am relieved that you have learned combat techniques to protect yourself from your fellow pilots.”

“Yeah.” His smile faltered a little, and he wished he’d learned combat as a child.

“Close your eyes and rest,” his dad said. “We will work more this afternoon.”

 _Of course we will._ “Yeah. I guess I’m tired.” He settled back and pulled his father’s head against his shoulder. Lulled by the sounds of the bustling droid, they fell asleep.


	5. Explorations and Plans

“What are we going to do? If you’re supposed to ‘take it easy’ the rest of the day, what’re we going to do? We can’t duel! And you’re not supposed to sit on the floor so we can’t work on the ship. Do we _have_ to do mind stuff? Can’t we like… like go for a walk or something? Go outside?” Luke paused. “Dad? Aren’t you going to answer me?”

Vader ignored all his questions, even the last one, as he carefully lowered himself into his treatment chair and allowed TwoOneBee access. 

Chatty Mr. TwoOneBee decided to fill in the silence. “Walking would be excellent in terms of rehabilitation. My Lord, you may sit on furniture, but for no longer than thirty minutes at a time. You must not over-stretch the synth skin until it is fully bonded and flexible, which should be in approximately two-point-three hours.”

“Are you so certain,” Luke asked mischievously, “that’s it not two-point-six hours?”

“No, Sir Garven, my calculations are precise based on the exact application time of the final procedure.”

“He is precisely exact,” Vader teased in a soft voice, then subsided as TwoOneBee activated the mechanical arm.

The process of replacing the mask made Luke wince with sympathy, and he hoped the painful _hair pluck stabs_ stopped once it was settled.

“They do.”

The booming Vader-Voice was startling for a moment, but he knew he would never hear it again in quite the same way now that he knew his dad’s true tones.

Luke grinned as he helped to line up the helmet, though obviously neither the arm nor TwoOneBee actually _needed_ his assistance. “This is pretty amazing,” he admitted. “So many layers of protection.” It was something of a relief to see his dad safely ensconced in the suit. No one could hurt him now. “I’m gonna come back every time you do this, y’know. Just to be here— or wherever you do it. And I promise to _try_ not to talk so much.”

The helmet was fitted back on. “I will keep you at your word, young man,” Darth Vader warned in the very familiar, ominous, basso profondo tones.

“Daddy’s home!” Luke grinned, subduing his desire to scream away the tension.

His father sighed. _Oops,_ Luke thought. “Uh.. ‘daddy’ is just an expression to describe a— a mentor,” he said to TwoOneBee. “It doesn’t mean anything special. Other than that.”

“Thank you for the education, Sir Garven. I have included that description to my databank in addition to other definitions of the word.”

How many definitions of ‘daddy’ were there? He decided a droid wasn’t capable of sarcasm, so he let it go. But a terrible/wonderful/worried thought suddenly lodged in Luke’s brain. “Wait! I mean… you won’t _need_ to keep having treatments, right? Because you’re… you have skin now. So you won’t need me here.”

“I will still need maintenance for my organ replacements and… so forth. And records of my treatments must still be transmitted to the Emperor.”

“Huh.” Luke frowned. “So I can be here if you want me. And we need to reprogram that droid to send reports periodically.”

“Sir?” TwoOneBee turned his head quickly. “Are you planning on reprogramming me?”

“No, TwoOneBee,” Luke assured him. “I mean the FX-6… unless you’re required to report your activities to… uh, anyone.”

“I report to Lord Vader and no one else, Sir Garven. That is my programming. My maintenance records are sealed by Lord Vader.”

“And me, right?” He looked up as his father rose from the chair. “So you’ll still want me to come, right? I mean, even if you don’t _need_ me present, you’ll still _want_ me, right?”

“Right,” his father agreed, back to being Man-of-Few-Words. But at least it was the _right_ word. “TwoOneBee, authorize Sir Garven to view my records… regardless of what designation he chooses to use. Scan his irises.”

“Thanks!” He opened his eyes wide for the scan, then returned to questioning, determined to squeeze out more information. “So we’re going to work on FX-6 now, right? Or are we going for a walk? Or what?”

“Right.” And his dad strode out of the room.

“Thanks!” Luke called to TwoOneBee, then paused in the doorway. “I like you.”

“Oh.” The droid’s head jerked back a little. “I like you too, Sir Garven.”

Grinning, he followed his father.

# # #

Why why why did he have to wear the damn armor? He glowered at his father.

“Because we will tour the base inside and out.” Where was Darth Vader suddenly getting the patience to answer so many of his questions? This did not compute. “You will see troopers and they will see you, so you must project a certain image.”

“I look like a walking wall of armor!” he pointed out rightfully, then added, “With a cute face.”

“Outdoors,” his father continued, “the armor will protect you from the acid rain in case there is a failure in any part of the shield.”

“Oh.” Well, okay then, that was acceptable. “Does it fail often?”

No reply.

While he was on a roll, he decided more questions were in order. “Has anyone ever fallen off the edge? Why does the ground look so weird? Can we go down there? Who do the troopers think I am? Do they know I’m your son?” His questions were broken by a yawn. Surprised, he pressed his lips together, refusing to be sleepy while he was with his dad.

Vader must have seen it, but didn’t comment. “You are not my son.”

“Am so.” He didn’t bother being angry, because his dad was just being deliberately… _contentious._

“Not to them. Although they are loyal to me, there is no reason to tempt anyone into disloyalty.”

Luke sighed. “You mean _he_ might hear about me.” Which, for some obscure reason, reminded him of something else. “Is there any white paint around here?”

They entered the great hall. “You are not painting my armor.”

“Well, maybe not right _now,_ but it’s still a good idea. Anyway, that wasn’t why I was asking. Since I’m coming back here and that’s _my_ room, I want to paint stars on the walls.”

“No white painted stars.” Vader swept in front of him and the tall doors opened. He didn’t pause as he continued outdoors. “I have acquired a jar of gold sparkle for your stars.”

Three steps later, the words sunk in. “What?!” Gold sparkle?? He started to laugh and clapped his hand over his mouth— forgetting about the clear visor. “Ouch! Krit! I mean— that’s _great,_ thank you! You’re nominated for Father of the Year!”

“Only nominated?” In the gloom of the afternoon— was it ever sunny here?— the Dark Lord stopped several feet from a trooper who had the blue markings of the 501st on his shoulder. “And do not use that word.”

“Krit?” Luke asked innocently, then grinned. “I know, sorry!”

“Commander Aouli, you have met Sir Garven.”

“Yes, My Lord,” said the trooper who had curly red hair under that helmet. “Sir Garven.”

“Sir Garven is my associate. He will be allowed on planet whenever he wishes, and in my absence he will speak for me and will be obeyed. Within reason.”

Luke _almost_ rolled his eyes but managed to remain expressionless. Except for wrinkling his nose. He nodded to the commander but didn’t speak as he and his father walked on. “You know, I just realized something.”

His dad sighed.

“On Tatooine, I was Luke Lars first. Then I was Luke Vader, but I was still Luke Lars. Then I was Luke Skywalker, but I had to be Laze Loneozner. And Oz. Then you found me and I was Luke Skywalker again, but I could only be Luke and not Skywalker. Now with the Alliance, I have to be Laze Loneozner and Oz, even though some of them know I’m Luke Skywalker and/or Vader. In my barracks I have to be Oz except I can be Luke too. Here I was Garven, and now all of a sudden, I’m _Sir_ Garven. I’m a victim of identity crisis!”

“There is a force field around the platform—”

“Another one? How many shields does this place have anyway? Asking for Sir Garven,” he clarified.

“This shield prevents soldiers and impudent young ones from falling off into the abyss.”

“It doesn’t look like an abyss. Just spiky stuff that might hurt an impudent young one.”

“The planet-wide shield protects the surface from acid rain and it is sometimes damaged during violent storms. The outermost shield—”

Luke sighed.

“—is defense against attack, as Captain Jovay told you. It radiates disruptive electrical currents to incoming ships even as the ion cannons mounted under the platform are fired to render computer and electronic systems useless. Thus, ships are disabled before they can attack.”

“Oh.” He considered it. “What if the ships sneak in from another place on the planet?”

“I have outposts in other locations. Also, the rain shield can be removed and the ships or their weapon fire will disintegrate or be greatly damaged before they can reach my bases.”

“Oh.” Still…. “If ships can’t get through the rain, how did someone get here in the first place?”

Vader’s helmet twisted toward him. “It was me and I am smarter than the rain.”

Well… granted.

“Plus, it was not raining at the time.”

“Lucky for us!” Luke quipped. He stayed back from the edge, unwilling to test the existence of the (theoretical) force field. “Are there any animals alive down there?”

“Of course. There are ravines and cave systems where creatures can thrive. There are small beasts with armored shells that venture onto the barren surface. Also, some flora grows and is consumed by fauna.”

“You just want to see if I know those words,” he accused. “I do— flora and fauna are holotoon characters.”

“I know, Son.”

He stopped. “What? You do not! And hey… you shouldn’t use that word!”

Vader stopped, too. “That was an oversight on my part.”

“Darn right,” Luke agreed. “And while we’re at, I noticed another oversight on your part.”

“By all means, enlighten me.”

“You have nice quarters for me, _but…_ no dressing room with mirrors. Just that dinky mirror in the ‘fresher.”

“Ah. You are correct. Another oversight. Perhaps age is affecting my memory because I forgot you are my fashion-conscious… associate.”

Luke grinned. “No prob. Just get it taken care of before my next visit. This time, I’ll use yours. I brought a lot of clothes to model for you… since you paid for them.”

“I am looking forward to seeing what my credits have purchased.”

“You’ll be impressed. Which reminds me….”

“Many things remind you of many things.”

“Yeah, but—” His mouth closed as he tried to take back those words. “You said that you added insulation to your suit? So then you don’t get too hot or too cold? Because this bodyglove is too hot for me and I’ll _melt_ on Yavin.”

“You’d better be wearing it now!”

“I am, I am! But you said—”

“The insulation I referred to,” Vader said in a quieter tone, “is to protect me from electrical strikes that _he_ issues. While it has little effect on the residual pain, it does offer some protection against damages to my implants.”

“Oh.” He knew Palpatine did that horrible thing to his dad; he’d seen it in his head. “Can you do that too?”

“No, too much of my body is no longer organic and cannot generate electricity.”

Luke wrinkled his nose. “Then… could I do it?”

Seconds of silence passed as Vader stepped back from the edge. “I do not know, but why would you want to? There are more efficient ways to torture and kill.”

He didn’t reply.

“Did you bring your lightsaber?”

“Of course! It’s part— _Hey!”_

Even as his father whirled, blaster firing, Luke had his saber in hand and parried the bolts. They came fast and he tried to count them, but needed to focus on blocking them instead.

After _forever,_ his dad lowered the blaster and rehooked it to his belt. “Excellent. You have made much progress. You have natural agility. All you needed was instruction in the proper technique.”

“Thanks,” he said wary but pleased, hesitating until his father gestured that he could extinguish his blade. “Give a guy a little warning next time. I hope that was set to stun.”

“Of course not, I did not want you unconscious.” The voice softened. “It was on the lowest setting, the same as a practice droid. It would have hurt no more than plucking a hair.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

They entered a lift and descended several levels to a lower platform that contained another hangar. “Cool. How many hangars are here?”

“On this level, three.”

A stormtrooper saluted them. He had no blue insignia on his arm. “So they’re not all 501st?” Luke whispered, looking over his shoulder at the soldier they’d just passed.

“No, but they are all loyal to me.”

“No wonder _he_ doesn’t attack.”

“Since the Empire Day display, he has been uneasy.” Vader paused. “I planned to lure him here in a few days, having captured and bested you in battle.”

_“WHAT?”_

“But I decided it was a foolhardy plan and too soon for you. And for him. His greed to possess you is not strong enough yet to overcome his discipline and personal constraints.”

“Lucky for me.” Luke slumped and made a show of patting his chest. “My heart almost exploded.”

“I would have had to tell him I’d severely injured you and hindered your ability to travel, so he would’ve had to come here to possess you.”

Possess? Ugh. “Well, he’d have no problem believing you chopped off another of my limbs,” he said pointedly, though his dad didn’t seem to get that point.

“Probably not, though I did not want to be put in a position of proving it.” Oblivious— or not— to his shock, Vader sailed on and Luke ran to catch up with him. “The detention cells are here.”

“Where? You keep prisoners? Are they troopers or natives? Or—”

“Come along,” his father said, abruptly cutting off his questions. “You will be here another day.”

“Oh joy. Not as a prisoner, I hope.”

“Now, I wish to examine the droid. Lieutenant,” he said to a random officer who stood at attention, “tell Captain Gallia to report to my quarters.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Luke followed as they headed deeper into the interior and took a lift that deposited them in the entry hall. “Am I a lord, too? Since I’m a ‘sir’, what’s my monarchy title?”

“Wee Lord Garven. Does that suit you?”

“That’s not nice!” he protested, laughing. Safe inside a second lift, he leaned his head briefly against his dad’s shoulder. “I like you almost as much as TwoOneBee.”

“Hrmph.” Which Luke figured meant _I like you too._

“So who is Captain Guy?”

“Captain Gallia is my crack codebreaker, slicer, hacker— exceptionally brilliant with all computer systems. And he has a sly mind.” They exited to Vader’s quarters and waited in the foyer. “As much as I would enjoy obliterating FX-6’s memory, I think it far wiser to allow it to generate reports of my treatments.”

“Good idea. So _he_ thinks you just had regular maintenance.” His dad was so smart; Luke decided he’d inherited those brains, because he was pretty clever too.

“Although somewhat unpracticed,” his dad murmured in what could have been an insult, then raised his voice and opened the lift with an unnecessary gesture of one hand. “Captain.”

The man nodded. “My Lord. Sir Garven.”

Word sure got around fast. Luke studied the… well, he was blue so he must be Chiss. His eyes were pink but seemed to get darker as Luke watched.

_His eye color changes depending on oxygen levels. Be aware you may need the respirator._

_Okay, okay._ He nodded to the captain. _Can I take off the helmet?_

 _Yes._ “Captain, my FX-6 unit unfortunately shut down before its work was completed. However, I need it to send its normal report to the Emperor.”

“Of course, My Lord.” The officer smiled slightly, astounding Luke with his casual attitude. “Anything else it should send? Like our virus to the mainframe?”

Luke’s eyes widened.

“I think both viruses should be armed, but not uploaded just yet, Captain. Do you agree?”

His dad was asking someone else’s opinion?

_Use your best assets wisely and treat them well._

Oh. Right. ... _Does that mean ME too?_

“Very good, My Lord.” The officer set to work, and Vader steered Luke out of the treatment room and into the lounge area.

“When we are ready the first virus will infiltrate and be noticed quickly, though it will be difficult to disable and repair its impact. It will serve as a distraction while the second virus shuts down the central galactic power grid and galaxy-wide communications, infiltrating the fleet and ground bases more subtly. Those events will be the signal for the mass insurrection by officers and stormtroopers loyal to me, and the hostile takeover of the entire fleet—”

“The _whole_ fleet?” he blurted. “But—”

“Not the Death Squadron nor other ships within my control. Not the bases loyal to me.”

“Death Squadron?” First time he’d heard _that_ term! “I— what—?”

“My star destroyers. Including—” Vader paused dramatically.

“What? _What?”_

“My new flagship.”

“You have a—”

“The Executor. A Star Dreadnought.”

“So that sounds… big.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “It is about twelve times the length of the Devastator.”

For once he was stunned into silence. How could such a thing be possible? There was nothing else in the galaxy that big, was there?

“There is nothing like it.” His dad was boasting— and why not? “It is _mine._ The size and population of a small city, with weaponry that is superior in number and in power than anything before it—”

“The Alliance isn’t going to be happy to see _that._ Sorry,” he added when he felt a glare from his father. “So you’re the commander?”

“Certainly not.” A menial task, brushed aside, which meant Vader _was_ the commander in the same way he commanded everything. “Your friend _Admiral_ Piett will command.”

“Cap got a promotion!”

“Am I mistaken or do you seem more excited about Piett’s promotion than my acquisition of a magnificent ship?”

“No, no, I’m thrilled that you got it! Can I see it? I want to see it!”

 _In meditation for now,_ Vader advised. Luke frowned, but figured it was the only practical way. _However, one day you may wish to join me in reality._

 _Maybe I will._ He sent his dad an ‘impudent’ smile, then gasped. _Wait! Are you going to have your treatment there sometime? I can come then and see the ship!_

No reply.

“Finished, My Lord.” Captain Gallia paused in the doorway of the treatment room. “The record is dated today with minor modifications from the last one. It awaits your review. The two viruses are armed and require only the passcode to execute them.”

“Excellent, Captain. You’re dismissed.” Vader made his way to the droid, Luke following. “Thank you for your usual good work, FX-6.”

“Thank you, My Lord. May I upload the report?”

“I will review it first.” Vader pulled up the report on the desk monitor while Luke read over his shoulder. “You may send it,” he decided before Luke even finished the first paragraph. “Sir Garven, your move.”

He grinned and waited for the droid to send the report, then switched it off again. FX-6 froze in place. “So… who knows the mysterious passcode besides you and Captain Gallia?”

“Not the captain, only me.” His father sat in the exam chair and allowed TwoOneBee to remove the helmet and mask. _Except in a moment— you will have the code also._

He answered his dad’s smile with a huge grin and met the golden eyes, accepting the passcode that was both complex and infinitely personal to father and son.

“Thanks! So… now what’re we going to do for the rest of the day? We have hours and hours.”

Darth Vader didn’t bother to glance at him. “Leave me.”

“What?”

“I will spend the rest of the day in meditation and contemplation.” Now Vader gave him the Sith-eye stare. “You must do the same.”

“But what about dinner? Can’t we eat together?”

“No. And stay in your quarters until I call for you tomorrow. No explorations.” One finger pointed and shook at him.

He sighed with aggravation as his father swept off to his private sanctuary and muttered under his breath as he trudged downstairs. “ _Meanie._ Fine, I’ll have dinner alone. All by myself. I’m a _guest,_ I should—”

His complaint were forgotten as soon as he saw the pot of gold sparkles on the table.


	6. Dreams and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Luke asks Vader too many questions and learns things he doesn’t want to know.

Commander Narra must have been smarter than Luke had realized at the time. Although… probably stars were harder to create with gold sparkles than they might have been with white paint. At least he could smear the gold into spirals. Not that he’d done it deliberately; no, they’d looked so terrible that he’d tried to wipe them away, but the sticky sparkles only streaked. Pointed stars, roly-poly stars, perky half-stars, shooting stars— they all looked like dying-out novas that had gone awry. He was never going to paint again. And now the wall was a mess. He’d have to ask for blue paint, although he wasn’t positive that more paint would cover the lumpy sparkles. Maybe he could try to scrape them off before his father saw them.

Of course, the instant that he thought about his dad, Vader came out of meditation. Luke tried to remain very quiet in his head; maybe his father would think he was asleep.

That didn’t work. With a resigned sigh, he sat back on his heels and waited.

Darth Vader arrived— although without the suit and armor Luke thought he was more like Anakin Skywalker. Not that he should even _think_ that and let his father sense it. He peered sideways and saw his dad was wearing the black dress over— well, apparently over his skin because there was no sign of the bodyglove. But there was a portable respirator attached around his nose and throat.

Anakin Vader (a good compromise, he decided) stood behind him, arms folded, and studied his artistry with eyes that matched the disastrous stars for both color and shine. Thankfully they were not askew.

“I made a mess.” Really, he couldn’t help but pout a little. “It was harder than I thought. These sparkles slide around when they’re wet. And I don’t know how to make stars. And the wall is really big. Maybe I should’ve made bigger stars. All the little dots make the wall look like it has a bug infestation. I tried to wipe them off, but that made it worse. I’m just not talented.”

At least his father wasn’t rushing to judgment. His head tilted as he studied the… well, wall canvas.

“Maybe it’s like interpretive art,” Luke suggested. “It’s the artist’s personal vision of the universe and his place in it. That’s me.” He pointed to a blob in the center. “And— wait! Here’s you!” With the biggest brush he painted a large circle. It was shaped more like an egg, so he added to one side of it. But the brush curved too low and made a tail, so he painted an opposite curve to meet it. He made sparks shooting out of the top like a comet. But now it looked like a varactyl head.

“Ah. I believe I see the resemblance.”

“Thanks for the sarcasm.” Luke frowned. “But you _do_ see what I was going for, right? Sort of a modern interpretation of… uh… your mask.”

“Of course.” His dad smiled slightly, and Luke’s heart leaped. “Young one, you’re a very talented—”

He waited eagerly.

“—mechanic,” Vader finished. “As you once told me, keep your day job.”

Unintentionally, a disgusted sound came out of his mouth. “You remember and quote entirely too much of what I say.”

“Only certain things.”

Okay, he had to laugh. “I really like when we quote each other! It means we’re both actually listening!”

“I’m always listening to you. Now, I’m returning upstairs, and it’s past your bedtime. If you can even fall asleep without nightmares about an invading star system.”

“It’s not that bad!” He capped the sparkle pot and decided he wasn’t letting his father get away that easily. But it was late, so he obeyed. Partially.

After showering and donning the new pajamas that had gold stars— he was sensing a theme running in his dad’s head— and the thick robe that matched the dark blue walls (without gold sparkle smears) (no, wait! sparkles were sticking on his hands and—and _everywhere!)_ he grabbed a blanket and a pillow from his bed and marched upstairs, trying to brush off the sparkles— damn, now there were sparkles on the stairs— before peeking into the darkened bedroom.

His dad was already in bed, propped up against a heavily padded headboard that swaddled him closely like it was specially designed to fit him. Which it undoubtedly was. “Hi.”

“What do you want?” The voice was muffled.

“I’m gonna sleep on your gigantic sofa,” he declared, silently daring his father to challenge him. In the living area, he arranged the pillow against the sofa arm and stretched out, making himself comfortable. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m hoping to sleep. You may stand guard duty if you wish. Silently.”

Oh, sure, guard Darth Vader. Sounded simple enough. “Okay, go ahead. But can you hear me when I’m waaaay out here? ‘Cause if you can’t, I can move the sofa closer.”

“I can hear you just fine.” His dad’s voice seemed to break. “However, you’re not planning on shouting at me all night, are you?”

“Of course not!” Why would his father think such a ridiculous thing? “We can talk in our heads!”

“And what if ‘we’ would rather sleep?”

“We can sleep! We can just talk a bit first, right?”

There was a pause. “Have you exchanged _‘yeah but’_ for _‘right’_ in your vocabulary? Surely you learned other words from all those educational tapes.”

He sighed wearily. “I know lots of words, Dad. Those are shortcuts. Why say long words when short ones will do? I could say, ‘yes, however, there are other considerations’ instead of ‘yeah but’. And I could say, ‘you agree with my suggestion, don’t you’ but it’s much more efficient to say ‘right’. Don’t you agree with my suggestion, Father?”

“I could say ‘however, there are other considerations besides shortcuts’. Such as sleep, which you need. Don’t think I didn’t see you yawn earlier.”

“Oh, horrors, not a _yawn!_ You know, a yawn is just an internal stretch. So it’s like exercising.”

There was a short silence while he stubbornly waited for a response. “Luke, what is so urgent that you must talk about it after two in the morning?”

“Two? Nope, I’m still on Yavin time.” That sounded like a bouncy song, so he composed a few lines and sang them. “Livin’ on Yavin time, goin’ out for a climb… uh, tryin’ to find a rhyme, swingin’ from vine to—”

“Luke…. What. Do. You. Want.”

“Well… I dunno. I mean, I am not certain of my exactly precise conversational goals at this moment, however….” He waited for Vader to interrupt, but he didn’t. “Umm… well, okay, as long as you’re asking…. I have two questions.”

“Only two?”

He hesitated. “Yeah bu— _However,_ I’m going to number them because sometimes your answers create more questions and I don’t want _those_ questions to count against my two numbered ones.”

Was that a sigh or a stifled yawn? “Very well. Proceed.”

“Okay, question one!” He paused dramatically. “What’s your first name?”

“What?”

“Your first name. You said that ‘Anakin Skywalker’ isn’t your name any more, and since ‘Darth’ is a title, what’s your first name?”

“I have no need for a first name,” his father said tightly.

“Yea—” Luke almost bit through his lower lip trying to stifle the ‘yeah but’, which, in his defense, was a perfectly sensible phrase. “You have to have one. Everyone does.”

If he’d been able to see his dad, he probably could have confirmed his suspicion that the face wore an expression as blank as Vader’s mask. Although he was pretty good at reading the mask, the way it tilted and turned….

“At least _think_ about it,” Luke said. “You should have one. I can make some suggestions if you’d like. Although ‘Anakin Vader’ is a perfectly fine name. But okay, then here comes my second question. Are you ready?”

“Just ask.”

He hadn’t really hoped for a sign of eagerness, but his dad didn’t have to sound so… martyred. “I want to talk about me kinda wishing you don’t do what you do.”

“That is not a question.”

Luke made a face even though his dad couldn’t see it. “Being a Sith Lord, killing people, conquering planets, overthrowing governments, that kind of stuff. I wish you didn’t do all that. Couldn’t you do something else, something less… controversial?”

He’d thought it was a reasonable question, but it felt like all the air was abruptly sucked out of the room. He scrabbled for the respirator on the table and took a few breaths, but that didn’t solve the problem.

“So… you disapprove of my methods. You denigrate the driving force of my life. My achievements are meaningless to you.”

Oops. “No! I’m _proud_ of you! I mean… you’re really good at what you do. The greatest. The best. You’re amazing. But, um, some of the things you do aren’t… you know… maybe not the nicest things to do… like killing people for no reason.”

“I do what I must.”

_You do what you WANT,_ he thought but didn’t say. “Anyway, I just can’t… I can’t brag about you to my friends because… you know… because of those things. I want to talk about you all the time, but they hate you and they’d hate me and they’re not supposed to know who you are and it’s hard not to have anyone to talk to about you. Although,” he added, more to himself, “why they haven’t figured out who you are is beyond me. How many Imperial ex-Jedi Force-user fathers are there in the galaxy?”

“They don’t know because they don’t _want_ to know. Or they are as brainless as shaaks.”

He didn’t know what a shaak was, but his father didn’t wait for him to ask the question.

“It is unfortunate that you have no one to talk to about your disappointment in your father. I empathize as I have a similar problem.”

“You—”

“Two years ago, I learned I had a son. He was a spice user, a thief, a homeless rogue. I had no one to talk to about this problem child I had unknowingly sired.”

Oh. But… _unknowingly?_ Subdued, Luke tugged the blanket under his chin and stayed quiet.

“However, he was mine, so I took him. I saved him from that wretched life on Tatooine.”

“Technically,” Luke interrupted, “you _put_ me in that life when you chose power over your wife and child.”

The room was freezing, but he was sweating. It was hot and cold as Vader continued. _“I took him._ I taught him. I gave him purpose, or so I thought. I sent him away to keep him safe. I had no one to talk to about him.” There was a short pause, then Vader’s voice seemed to sink deeper like he was drowning. “He tells me he loves me. Sometimes I believe him. Sometimes I think he simply uses me.”

“Uh, Dad….” Was his father all right? Was he having a Senior Moment? What was wrong? Maybe it was best to humor him. “You have your son. He’s right here. He loves you.”

“I indulge him— too much. He takes and takes from me and it’s never enough. He’s selfish, but he’s young and I hope these behaviors will pass. He needs material things from me as if credits prove affection. Credits I have and can give easily, but that is not enough either. He wants every bit of me, he wants to pull out every emotion I have ever had, every fear, every love. And I wonder... do I want those same things from him? I have no one to talk to, no one to tell me if I am right or wrong in my perceptions.”

_As if anyone would dare say you were wrong._ Luke blinked and rubbed his eyes on the blanket. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had some of these insights himself. Even Wes and Zev had spoken about his reaction to gifts from his father. And his dad had told him some of this stuff two years ago when he’d lost his temper with his grasping, needy son, who was… okay, maybe being a little _difficult_ at the time. And confused. His dad shouldn’t blame him for being confused two years ago.

And now it seemed that those bitter feelings weren’t resolved like he’d assumed. Being closer hadn’t brought better understanding, and Luke wondered if they would ever truly know each other.

“He says he loves me. Padme said she loved me. She betrayed me, and I wonder: will my son betray me, too? Will he choose to be with his friends rather than with his father? He must know I will never allow that. Losing him would mean the end of my life… and his. Or will he simply grow tired of being Vader’s son? Will he enjoy his privileges so much that he wishes to take my place— as the apprentice bests his master? I don’t know, I can’t think, and I have no one to talk to.”

“Well… umm… Lord Vader, you can talk to me. Your son won’t betray you. Luke loves you and wants to be your son.”

There was a short pause. “Luke, why are you speaking about yourself in third person?”

He took a deep breath. “Because _you_ are! I thought maybe you were… I don’t know… not all here? Sort of?”

“I’m demonstrating how to express feelings to a neutral party,” Vader snapped.

“Great.” He pulled the blanket over his head. “I hope you and your imaginary friend have a wonderful time bashing your son!”

The Dark Lord grunted and his voice began to slur, and Luke realized his dad was falling asleep. None too soon.

“As I was saying…. My son believes in neither Light nor Dark. He fears commitment to anything. He works and achieves, but doesn’t apply what he’s learned. He’s content with mediocrity, to be a simple mechanic when he could lead the Empire. Always, he chooses the easy route. He does not want to make unpleasant decisions and tries to alter circumstances to avoid them. He focuses on the frivolous instead of the serious. He’s impetuous and acts in the moment. I understand some of his minor failures because they were mine as a youth. But others… I don’t understand why he has no ambition, no desire to accept our destiny and rule.” 

“Dad, c’mon. Don’t you think you’re being harsh?” His immediate reaction was that it was all unfair criticism.

But what if it wasn’t?

“I dreamed of my mother’s death. I dreamed of my wife’s death. I did not dream about a son because I did not have one… but now I do. Will I dream of his death if I dare sleep? I can’t stay awake forever, and I have no one to talk to me to keep me awake. I have no one to talk to….”

A few more mumbled words and the voice drifted into silence. Luke rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow, wetting it with a few tears until he managed to control them. He didn’t know… hadn’t _known…_ that his father had such feelings about him. A lot of not-so-good feelings.

Maybe he should go back to his room, but he was afraid. If his father woke in the night and remembered what he’d said, he might be worried if he found Luke gone. So he wasn’t moving from this sofa. Cautiously, he reached out with his mind to touch his father’s— not enough to wake him. It was like barely brushing fingertips, ready to calm if his dad needed soothing.

Luke tried to retreat into the Force and shove aside his fears and doubts. They could be saved until tomorrow when he might finally have to think. His dad was right. Thinking required decisions that he didn’t want to make, not now, not ever.

So maybe _this_ was why his dad wanted him here. Maybe it was time to face the ‘unpleasant decisions’ and decide _._

But he would be quite happy if he could stop time and stay here and never change and never have to decide anything _._ Here and now was a fine place to be. Why spoil it?

# # #

In the early dawn he was jolted awake, his heart pounding fast with terror, his freezing burning body dripping sweat and… flames, smoke, he was on fire and the _smell_ … his flesh cooking like meat, pain clawing up his back, scorching his head, sizzling his hair, he was a _torch,_ he was seizing, he couldn’t inhale, fire searing his throat, choking when he tried to scream—

Luke bolted upright. His father was in the throes of the same nightmare he remembered from the Devastator. Obi-Wan, the flash of a lightsaber, and that instant between being a man and becoming _nothing but pain,_ reliving that second over and over _._ Agony, hour after hour, day after day, no escape, too much to be endured, not again, couldn’t bear it again, no relief, no mercy, dissected and prodded, sliced, a lifetime of blinding pain— and _rage._ Raw anger, unbridled fury, the savage need for vengeance, to attack, to make anyone, _everyone_ suffer as he did, to rip off limbs, to reach inside and crush hearts, to destroy every living creature, to _shatter_ the stars, destroy the _galaxy_ —

“Dad—wake up! _Wake up!”_ He shook his father’s shoulders, then jumped back as Vader snarled and reached out with the Force, phantom fingers around his throat. _“No, Dad, it’s me! Luke! Dad! DAD!”_ He gasped, struggling to grab a breath and free himself from the invisible grip. _“D-DAAAD!”_

The chokehold lessened, and the Dark Lord fell back against the headboard. “Luke?”

“That’s my name.” He tried to laugh, but failed and coughed instead. “You’re okay. It’s over. It was a nightmare.”

“It’s never over,” Vader whispered, then shook his head. “Young one… what are you doing here? Did I wake you?”

“It’s okay. I was napping on the sofa.”

“Napping? On the sofa? What time—? It’s very early....”

“I know. Can you go back to sleep?”

“Maybe....”

“Okay. Sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

His father didn’t answer, and Luke wondered if he actually _was_ awake. Maybe he didn’t remember his words. An idea nudged him— if he kept quiet, didn’t acknowledge that his dad had spoken, he wouldn’t have to think about what had been said, he wouldn’t have to decide anything. It would be so easy to ignore it all, pretend words hadn’t been spoken, pretend thoughts hadn’t been… thunk.

Except that _he_ would remember. Maybe his father would too.

He sat on the floor and rested his head on the edge of his dad’s bed, wishing he had the power to go back seventeen years, save his father from Hell, and change both their lives.

# # #

He woke because a hand stroked his hair. A synth-skin hand that was much softer than the steel claw. Luke lifted his face. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Darth Vader studied him. “Why are you here?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Where else would I be?”

His father grunted. “Send TwoOneBee in. I believe I have an infection on my head. And go to your room and dress for the day. Wear the bodyglove, no armor for now.”

Luke stood and looked at his father’s skull. “Yeah, there’s a red area. Does it hurt? Do you feel a problem anywhere else?”

“No. Why are there sparkles in your hair? Now they’re on my hand. Fetch TwoOneBee and leave me.” His voice was a little snappish, and Luke bit his lip.

“Okay. I’ll come back as soon as—”

“Eat breakfast. I will let you know when I need you. And stop shedding those damn sparkles on my bed.”

“You’re the one who gave them to me!” Irritated, he left, gesturing to the droid and dragging the blanket and pillow behind him. Maybe his dad _did_ remember what he’d said and was embarrassed. Or he was thinking about the truth of what he’d said. Or having second thoughts about his words. Maybe his father was wrong.

But what if the things his dad said were true? At the desk in his room, Luke grabbed flimsi and stylus and wrote down everything that he remembered. There were a few good things, but most of it was critical.

_Content with mediocrity._ He stared at the list and wondered if his father liked him at all. Or if liking wasn’t related to loving. _You’re my dad and I love you. I just hate some of the things you do._

_You’re my son and I love you. Even though you’re mediocre._

Maybe that’s just the way it was between father and son. Between children and parents.

He brushed gold sparkles off the flimsi. One thing he figured for sure: his dad wouldn’t have been disappointed in Leia.

# # #

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke’s singing inspiration: Sheryl Crowe & Clapton  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=oV2zv6sVD_o


	7. Luke Strikes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A contentious Luke is still incensed and furious about Vader’s criticisms the night before. Vader gives him an unexpected and unwanted ‘gift’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some PTSD

He struggled into the armorweave bodyglove— just the pants— and jumped up and down in front of the ‘fresher mirror, trying to get them up to his waist. His dad was still in his suite, but once he left Luke figured he could use the dressing room to check his full appearance. Really, the bodyglove wasn’t _all_ that revealing, was it?

His purple _Deep Space Sprite_ shirt seemed a good, inappropriate choice to annoy his dad, and he felt the need to piss off Darth Vader today. And to show him that his son was independent and _not_ mediocre, at least not when it came to fashion.

Wes’s scarf wrapped around his shoulders (not his _neck,_ he wasn’t making that mistake again) and tied at his waist, leaving long tails dragging on the floor. He clipped his lightsaber to it. Black wrap boots almost finished the look, but something was missing.

_Meet me in the private hangar._

_Be there in ten._ He felt his father leave his quarters. In his own ‘fresher, Luke took the pot of gold sparkles and painted the hair that he brushed down over his forehead. Yeah. He could use more jewelry, but the thin bracelet was all he had. However, he rolled up his t-shirt sleeves to show off his muscles and his TIE tattoo. That was the best he could do with his limited resources. He needed more tattoos. Or metal arm bands for his biceps.

After a quick check in Vader’s dressing room— only the mirror, though he really wanted to snoop in the drawers— he headed to the hangar to confront his father. He had a lot to say to Lord Vader. Maybe it would be wiser to pretend to be his dad’s Imaginary Friend.

Vader was sitting on a bench working on the underbelly of the fancy ship and didn’t look up. Luke marched over and stood, hands on his hips, waiting.

His father finally glanced at him, looked away, then did a double-take.

Luke waited.

Vader said, “Begin the installation of the inertial compensator.” He nudged a toolbox with his boot.

“Fine.” Luke frowned. “How do you like my clothes?”

His father’s gaze began at the top of his sparkly head and traveled down to his feet. “The boots are wrong.”

“What?” Of all the responses he’d expected, this wasn’t one of them. “What’s wrong with them?”

“If you’re not going to wear pants—”

“I’m wearing pants!”

“—over the bodyglove, you should wear thigh boots to distract from your… look.”

He couldn’t think of a response. Maybe he should have lingered a little longer at the mirror.

“I’ll order some later when I put in your request for the ‘sandy’ boots.”

Luke sat on the floor. “Oh. Uh… okay, thanks.” He glanced at the helmet as he picked through the toolbox. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“It’s not _supposed_ to be surprising. I think a lot.”

“I know you do. Hand me the fusion cutter.”

He found it and slapped it into the outstretched glove. “Anyway… there’s a holoshow I’ve been watching—” 

“Holovision will rot your brain.”

“Can I finish?! Anyway, it shows families that get some… you know… therapy.”

Sparks shot from the cutter and reflected on the black armor. “Are they injured?”

“Sort of. Can I do that?”

“Not without a face shield.”

“You didn’t tell me to bring a face shield. No armor, you said.”

“I know what I said. You don’t need a fusion cutter or a face shield or armor to work on an inertial compensator.”

Luke sighed. “Fine. Anyway, I was thinking that we could do that.”

“Do what?”

He pursed his lips. “Lord Vader, I believe your son is trying to suggest that you and he try couples therapy.”

His dad’s shoulders shook a little. Was he _laughing?_ “Couples therapy?”

“Perhaps he means family therapy.”

Vader looked at him. “Who are you?”

“Surely, My Lord, you have not forgotten me already.” Luke smiled sweetly. “I am the Imaginary Friend you use to criticize your son.”

The fusion cutter was snapped off and returned to the toolbox. “Luke, speak to me directly.”

 _Fine!_ He managed not to say that word because he just _knew_ his dad would criticize it. “You were out of line last night. The things you said hurt me.”

Vader turned on the bench to face him. “It is unfortunate that you were hurt. However, I said nothing that wasn’t true.”

“You just did it again!” Angry tears started to fill his eyes, but he blinked them back. “If you think that, then you don’t know me at all! I work really hard! I study and I practice and I work all day! You’re just like Commander Narra! You don’t appreciate what I do! And you’re _worse_ than him— _he_ never called me _mediocre!”_

“Nor did I. I said that you are content with mediocrity, which is quite a different thing.”

“It’s not different at all!” He swiveled around and stared at the ship, refusing to look at Darth Vader.

“I meant that you are content with a minor occupation, being a mechanic when you should be on the Command Staff. Or the Alliance Council. At the very least, you should be a squadron leader. You do not have ambition for a better life. You aren’t concerned with bringing peace to the galaxy.”

Luke sighed. “You just don’t understand how the real world works. I’m a kid, I have no experience, the Alliance isn’t gonna let me—”

“You are a powerful Force user, whether you call yourself Jedi, Sith, or nothing at all. If they don’t respect you it’s because you haven’t proved your usefulness. Instead you disobey commands and commit impetuous…well, actually, I approve of most of your impulsivity. However, _they_ do not _,_ and if you wish to advance in the Alliance, you must at least pretend to obey their petty rules until you are in a position to ignore them.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?”

“I am on _my_ side. There is little difference between the Empire and the Alliance. They are both entities that wish to rule the galaxy.”

“Not them! I mean, are you on _my_ side or _their_ side?” He yanked a spanner out of the toolbox, then slammed it on the deck.

“Treat your tools with respect.”

“Treat your _son_ with respect!” he snapped. “Your son should be more important than a spanner!”

Vader shook his head. “Obviously I made an error in sending you to hide with the Rebels. You need to go to university. Perhaps there you will learn discipline and a useful career, so you can have purpose to your life in the event you refuse to join your powers to mine.”

“Shavit! Will you just _listen_ to me?”

“I will, if you say something understandable.”

He wanted to scream. “You said I don’t make decisions! That I always take the easy way! I don’t! I killed that spy— do you think that was easy for me?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Luke hesitated. “Well… yeah. But it was the wrong thing to do. I didn’t think about it at the time. I was acting like you.”

“Now you will blame _me_ for your actions?”

He stood and kicked at the toolbox, knocking it over and spilling out the contents. “I hate you! And I think you hate me too! You don’t even like me!”

Vader didn’t move from the bench. “You’re behaving like a child throwing a tantrum. You’re seventeen. At your age—”

“I know how old I am! And at my age, you were in Jedi training, you had people to teach you! For all the good it did!”

“Exactly what are you inferring?”

“I don’t know.” It made him angry that he couldn’t find the words to describe what he was feeling. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Believe me, I have been called much worse.” Now his father stood. “Do you want to prove to me that you can make a decision? That you won’t take the easy route?”

Krit. “What do you have in mind?” he asked warily. “I’m not going to kill somebody if that’s what you want.”

Vader studied him. “How you administer discipline will be your decision. Are you wearing your lightsaber under that ridiculous mess of fabric?”

“Yes! And it’s not a _mess,_ it’s the scarf my friend Wes gave me!”

“Ah, your friend Wes. He seems to be a strong influence on you. I believe I need to make his acquaintance.”

“Like hell!” Luke snarled. “You leave him and _all_ my friends alone!”

But he was talking to Vader’s back. Still angry, he stalked after his father and followed him into the lift. They didn’t speak.

# # #

And they still weren’t speaking until they arrived at their destination which, Luke saw with trepidation, was the detention cells he'd seen the previous day. “Who’s in there?”

Vader led him to a small office occupied by a single officer. “Leave us,” he said, and the officer obeyed.

“Don’t you ever say please?” Luke mumbled, wanting to put off whatever was about to happen.

His father grasped his shoulder and pulled him forward. There was a bank of monitors showing the cells, all empty except for one where four men in fatigues were seated around a table playing cards.

“You want me to see if they cheat?”

“Sit down.” Vader shoved him into the chair in front of the screen. “It took me two weeks to track them from their stations around the galaxy and bring them here. You may do whatever you wish with them.”

“I don’t want to do anything with your prisoners,” Luke snapped. “It’s not my business.” He tried to stand, but the grip on his shoulder kept him in place. He sighed. “What did they do anyway?”

The fingers tightened. “Six years ago they were stationed together in Mos Eisley.”

“So?” It took a few seconds to understand what Vader was saying. And then he didn’t believe it. Six years ago… he was eleven and….

_… pretty little thing… ._

“ _What?_ No!” Luke jumped to his feet, instinctively shoving his father so hard that Vader stumbled into the opposite wall. “You— They’re not—” He couldn’t spit out words between his harsh gasps. He looked at the prisoners. He couldn’t hear them, but he could see that they were so casually laughing, so _casually—_

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he demanded. “You’re sick! Why would you _do_ this to me? How dare you? Why the _fuck_ are you always butting in my life? Stop listening to me when I don’t know it! Stop— just STOP! Leave me alone! I don’t want—”

Vader grabbed both his shoulders. “ _You_ stop. Look at me.”

Luke shook his head. “I _hate_ you. I _hate_ you! I didn’t want you to know! I didn’t tell you! Why can’t you leave me alone! I didn’t— I don’t— Why? _Why? When?_ How did—? _”_

“Empire Day. I blocked our connection to protect it from Sidious, but later— You were so upset when you told your friends, I couldn’t shut out your pain, I wanted—”

 _“You_ wanted! It’s always about what _you_ want!” His anger wasn’t rational and he knew it. But he didn’t want to look at those men, those _stormtroopers_ who _threw him in the garbage,_ who did things to him that he never wanted his father to know.

He sobbed with rage and frustration and butted his head against his father’s chest, pounding his fists against the immovable wall of solid black armor.

“I wanted to kill them,” Vader rumbled ferociously. “I wanted to tear them apart piece by piece and wring the blood from their bodies. But I wanted you to _know_ — to finally _know_ that you are safe, that you could stop looking at every stormtrooper in the galaxy and wondering if that was one of them.” Vader’s arms were like bars, trapping him so he couldn’t move. “I want you to feel safe.”

He was so _angry,_ so _mad_ at his father, but he _loved_ him and he understood that his dad thought he’d done the right thing, but it was a _terrible_ thing. He struggled against the embrace. “You should’ve told me… _warned_ me… not just find… like this. _Them.”_

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded awkward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I… never mean to hurt you. I just do. I hurt people.”

 _No, you mean it. When you hurt, you mean it._ Luke didn’t know if any answer would be true enough or good enough. His father was so… damaged… maybe he could never be repaired no matter how much Luke wanted it. Even if Vader… _Anakin…_ wanted it.

And Vader didn’t _want_ to change. He _couldn’t,_ or he wouldn’t be the monster that he was.

Luke turned his head without releasing the death grip he had clenched in the edges of his father’s cape. He wanted to be free, but he didn’t want to let go. Over his shoulder, he saw the card game had finished. Two of the men were arguing, one was pacing, one was glaring into the camera.

“I want to talk to them. I want to tell them—”

“No. Just kill them. Or if you cannot, I will.” The cape swiped across his eyes and cheeks, wiping away his tears. Then Vader held it to his nose. “Blow.”

Against his will, Luke laughed once at the memory, but it turned into a single sob and he rested his face against the cool armor of the pauldron, his fury blowing away like a passing storm, hardening into something else. _Resolve._

“Telling them how they changed your life will only reward them. They will _gloat._ My investigators learned that they acted as a pack on Tatooine. You weren’t their only victim. When they were reassigned, they committed crimes individually. They don’t deserve to live.” A shudder ran through his father. “If they had killed you— I never would have _known_ —”

“I almost died,” Luke whispered. “I was so cold. It got dark and the night was so cold….”

“I know. The desert is cold when the suns set. If someone hadn’t found you….”

“Kenobi,” Luke said.

“What?”

“Ben Kenobi found me. I remembered. He found me and wrapped me in his cloak and took me to the med center. I never saw him again.”

His father’s respirator breathed. The man didn’t move. 

Luke listened to the breathing for a few minutes. Eventually he lifted his head. “I got sparkles on your armor. ‘M sorry.” He tried to wipe them off.

Vader’s hand went behind Luke’s head and pulled it back against his suit. “It doesn’t matter.”

Luke clenched his fists. “I don’t want to kill them. You neither. You don’t kill them either.”

The big hand stroked his hair. “Prison then. For life. They will never be free, and they will never hurt you or anyone else again.”

“Promise? I don’t want you to kill them.”

“Promise. My word of honor.”

“Okay, but....” Luke shrugged off the hand and turned his head. He wanted to study their faces, to see if there were any signs, if they looked different from other people. If evil changed people….

But they looked like everyone else. His father was the only evil person who looked different. The only one who had changed. But his father’s change was a mask, armored and false. These men….

“I’m going in there.” He unclipped his lightsaber, unwound Wes’s scarf, and handed them both to his father. “You said I take the easy way, that I avoid unpleasant decisions. Not this time.”

Vader stepped closer to him, blocking the door. “Luke—”

“I’m not using the Force.” He looked directly into his father’s eyes behind the mask. “I’m going to beat the kriff out of them and teach you to have some respect for my hard work and my accomplishments. I’m gonna teach you to respect _me.”_

The iron mountain didn’t move. “And,” Luke added, _“don’t interfere!_ I want to do this myself. Promise you won’t interfere.”

“I will make no such promise.” Vader folded his arms. “However, I will not intervene unless I determine that you are in danger of grave injury or death. Which is exactly what you would do if our situations were reversed.”

True. He gave a slight nod, then stared until the dark helmet tilted and his father moved aside. Luke closed his eyes and centered himself, willing away the anger and grief. Punishment, not revenge. There was a difference. Four troopers against one combat-trained teenager… in this case, it would be a fair fight.

All four men looked when he entered the holding cell. “Well, what do we have here?” a snowy-haired oldster said. “They sent us a gift to pass the time.”

“How thoughtful.” A second man, hair dark as night, studied his crystal-studded shirt, his hair— full of whatever gold sparkles hadn’t smeared onto Darth Vader’s armor. “This’ll be fun.” And Luke thought that voice sounded familiar. In his mind he heard it say: _...who cares… just dump him..._.

Now that same voice added: “Just like old times, boys!” But the two men at the table didn’t reply; they watched him cautiously.

“Exactly,” Luke said softly. “It’s a reunion. But this isn’t Mos Eisley, you don’t have your weapons and your armor, and I’m not eleven years old anymore.” He raised both hands and beckoned. “Come and get me.”

# # #

His father’s beautiful cape was taking a beating today. Now it was wiping away the blood from Luke’s cut lip. “You’re going to have a black eye if we don’t get bacta on it right away.”

“I don’t care. I _won_ it.” He stood motionless, watching, in front of the screen as his father cleaned his face. Four men lay either unconscious or dazed in the room, ready to be picked up and hauled to prison… but they were alive. He hadn’t taken them for dead and dumped them in the garbage. He hadn’t done any of the things they had done to him.

He hadn’t even killed them.

“You are correct. As you vowed, you beat the kriff out of them.”

“Yeah.” Most of it hadn’t been difficult. He’d used the same moves that had been successful with the men in the Yavin jungle. Allowed one to ‘sneak’ behind him and pin his arms back, then used that one’s body to support him while he kicked both feet into the chest of the second one. “Broke a few ribs there, I think.”

“Indeed.”

The second one had propelled into the third one, rendering him incapable for a few precious moments. He flipped the first one over his head— too bad there was no log for him to land on— but he hit his head on the floor and knocked himself out, sprawling on top of the third man who decided that surrender was wiser than fighting. “Probably a concussion.”

“No broken neck,” his father agreed, using a clean portion of his cape to wipe across a cut on Luke’s forehead.

“I don’t know how I got that.”

“He was wearing a ring in complete violation of military protocol.”

The grandfatherly trooper had been the most persistent and experienced and had walloped Luke a few times and even knocked him to the floor. Which was when Luke kicked as hard as he could and caught the guy in… well, in his precious area. That was when his father declared the fight over and hauled him out of the room.

He grinned, but just a little because his mouth hurt. “Can we go outside?” Luke asked, suddenly weary as his adrenaline plummeted. “I need to breathe. If it’s not dripping acid out there.”

“Come.”

He didn’t give the viewscreen another glance as he followed his father out of the room and across the wide expanse of a hangar. They took a different lift this time and Luke sighed involuntarily. He was tired, body and heart. He needed something, but he didn’t know what it was.

Maybe it was a father. Maybe just someone who cared. He hoped they were the same person.

The doors slid open to fresh air. It wasn’t raining for a change, though he didn’t know if the shield was still in place and didn’t bother to ask. Head down, chin tucked into Wes’s scarf, he simply followed until his father stopped and gently pushed him onto a bench. 

“We must take care that an impudent young one doesn’t fall over the edge.”

Luke supposed his dad was trying to be funny. “He’ll only fall if an impudent father pushes him.”

There was no answer. He leaned back and looked up at the castle. They were at the top of the tower, with a thin shaft rising above them. Communications, maybe? Or the shield transmitters?

“Purely decorative,” Vader said, seeing him stare upward, “except for the detonator missiles. The spire was constructed to attract enemies and lure them into the shield with the promise of destroying a communication array.”

Luke didn’t answer. Distracted, his gaze was drawn down to water that he could see in the near distance. “Is that a lake?”

“An ocean. Full of acid unfortunately. But there are sea creatures that thrive in it, proving that no matter how hostile the environment, life survives.”

Maybe they were both thinking of Vader’s suit. Luke looked down at his father’s gloved hand that rested next to his leg. It moved slightly and turned palm up in invitation. He ignored it.

“I’ve never been in big water.”

There was a short silence. “So you can’t swim.”

“Obviously not.” Luke shot him a quick glance. “Can you?”

“Used to. Now I can’t. Not in this armor. I’d sink. I’d need the Force to get out.”

“Oh.” He swiped his hand across his mouth. A smear of blood appeared on his wrist.

“Your friend,” Vader said.

Luke tensed, waiting for him to say something about Wes.

“The one who was credited with the Death Star shot. Darklighter.”

“Biggs.” He sighed. “What about him?”

“Did his… family… take many holos? Or snaps?”

“I don’t know,” he answered crossly. “What does it matter? It’s too late to make a ‘wanted’ poster if that’s what you’re thinking. Biggs is dead.”

“I know.” Vader brought the hem of his cloak to Luke’s mouth and he tolerated the nursing. “I just thought they might have snaps of you. When you were a child. Do you know where they are hiding now?”

Luke jerked his head away and glared at his father. “Why? So you can steal their snaps? Krit, Father, leave them alone! They lost their favorite son, just leave them alone.” Why did Vader’s thoughts have to be so weird and disjointed? Sometimes it seemed like he only thought about what _he_ wanted. Even when he thought about Luke.

The silence between them lengthened. It wasn’t a peaceful silence; it was tense and rigid and was reflected in their stiff postures. A large tail rose from the water in the distance. It was so far away, the fish must have been huge. He watched the froth subside after the tail vanished.

“I had forgotten,” Vader said, “what it is like to be young and vulnerable to criticism. I remember that I often felt unfairly judged. It made me angry.”

“Everything makes you angry.” But Luke shrugged. “Me too, I guess. You’re the one person I want to be proud of me but you….”

“I _am_ proud of you. You’re strong and determined. Clever. Full of mischief. I am proud to call you my son.”

Better, but not good enough. “I’m never going to be a Sith, you know,” he said, finally acknowledging what he’d felt for awhile now.

“I know.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Yes. But you must do what you think is right.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the trick, isn’t it? Figuring out what’s right.” Luke nibbled at his lower lip. “Probably not a Jedi either.”

His dad shrugged. “You don’t need a label.”

“That’s what _I_ say!” Slightly surprised that his dad remembered, he nodded with approval.

“You could become an anonymous hero—”

“Wearing a special costume!”

“Freeing slaves.”

“Fighting evil— Well.” He gave his father a Look. “Maybe not _all_ evil.”

“Thank you,” his dad said dryly. “Let’s get you cleaned up and bacta’d. And you need to change clothes. There is blood on your shirt.”

“WHAT?” Luke looked down, pulling out his beloved purple tee and checking it. “Where? This is my favorite shirt!”

“Just a little here by the neck. Don’t fret. The cleaners will remove the blood.”

“I don’t _fret,”_ he mumbled resentfully. “And even if they _can’t_ get it clean, I want it back! It’s my favorite.”

“So you have said. And this time, wear the entire bodyglove, a clean one… with clothing on top.”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘a clean one’? I only have—”

“Luke, there’s a drawer full of bodygloves, haven’t you looked? I’m surprised that going through everything wasn’t your first action.”

“Blee blee blee. I’m not a snoop!” Although he really would like to see what else his dad kept in his dressing room.

“It’s your quarters, everything in it belongs to you.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I can take the bed back with me. It’s more comfortable than my bunk.”

“Whatever you wish.” Vader’s voice was as smooth as his movement as he took Luke’s elbow and steered him back inside.

“I want to talk later,” Luke said abruptly. “Tonight. When I can see your face.”

He could _feel_ his father flinch behind the mask. Vader inclined his head. “Very well. Now I have some work to finish. You may stay in your quarters or in the hangar. If you venture outside of those areas, wear your complete armor.”

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of.” He frowned. “I just proved I can take care of myself. And this is _your_ base with _your_ troops.”

“And _you_ are my only child.”

Well… maybe. But if Leia was really his sister, she had the Organas and that made her lucky. He didn’t want to subject her to this mess of a father.

Besides, they’d probably kill each other.

# # #


	8. Think Before You Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader and Luke talk about the past and the future, and Luke learns a new skill.

It really _was_ a beautiful ship. He sat on the bench, toolbox between his feet, staring at the sleek craft. He didn’t feel like working on it, he didn’t feel like practicing gymnastics or katas, he didn’t feel like sleeping, he didn’t feel like much of anything. His mind, usually busy chasing thoughts around his head, was mostly empty. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t know if he wanted to even _see_ his dad, let alone talk to him. And he was pretty sure his dad didn’t want to see his mediocre son.

Okay, maybe Vader hadn’t exactly _said_ he was mediocre, but that’s what he’d heard.

Luke rubbed the silver balancing bracelet and began twisting it around his wrist. He wondered how his father had thought of giving it to him. Maybe his dad had had something similar when he had one prosthesis, before Kenobi had hacked off his other three limbs.

Gold sparkles were caught under the bracelet and he tried to brush them off. It was hopeless, of course. They stuck to his fingers. He would go sparkling back to the Yavin base, little sprinkles of gold trailing behind him wherever he went. The stalker would have no problem following him and taking snaps.

A hand closed around his shoulder and he started. Naturally it was Vader, and now Luke could hear his breathing, but how had he been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed his father approaching?

“Hello,” his dad said and sat on the other workbench.

Luke nodded and fidgeted with the bracelet.

“Have you initiated the tracker yet?”

“The what?”

Vader nodded at his wrist. “The instructions are inside. Didn’t you read the inscription?”

He vaguely remembered seeing something before he’d originally fastened it on. “It was too small to read. I figured it said something like ‘To Luke - Love, Dad’ but I guess not. So it tracks me? Why would you need that? Between your mind and your spy, you always know where I am and what I’m doing. And probably what I’m thinking.”

“It doesn’t track you. It will alert you if there is a monitoring device in your immediate vicinity. Take it off.”

His brain was very slow today because he stared at the band and couldn’t remember what to do. His father waited. Finally Luke pressed and used a Force suggestion. But he had to rotate the bracelet and retry that a few times before it opened. He removed it and looked at the inscription. “The words haven’t gotten any bigger.”

“My lenses magnified the instructions. I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t be able to see them.”

 _Of course you didn’t_. “What should I do?” he asked dully as his dad touched something inside the thin cuff.

“I’ve permanently armed it. When you are close to a surveillance device, in the same room or on a nearby person, it will emit a minor shock. No worse than plucking a hair.”

“Oh great. A shock.” He ignored the jibe and closed the bracelet around his wrist again. “It won’t detonate, will it? Like a slave tracker?”

A silence lingered after his question and too late he remembered his dad’s history. _Think before you speak._ He almost apologized, but decided to wait.

“No,” Vader said finally. “It’s nothing like a slave chip.”

He bit his lower lip. “Did you have one when you were a kid?”

“No. There was nowhere for a child slave to run and few people would steal one so small. At any rate, my mother had one and they knew I wouldn’t leave her.”

“Until the Jedi came.” He’d thought sometimes about how difficult that separation had been for his father; now he thought about his grandmother, how devastated and alone she must have been. How brave. How much she must have missed her child. “Biggs’s family didn’t take many snaps that I know of,” he said abruptly. “If they took any, it was never when I was around. So they don’t have any of me.”

His father selected a caliper from the neatly stacked tools. He looked at it for a moment, then removed one glove. “It’s been many years since I’ve held a tool this way.”

Luke waited. Sometimes being quiet allowed his father to talk.

_Genius, Skywalker._

“The prosthesis would catch and pull on the wiring, so I learned to use the glove’s sensors to work in confined spaces.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of things like that. “I still think I can do something with the neuroconnections. Probably the circuitry too. I’ll have to create some schematics so that next time….”

“Yes.” There was another long pause. “I want to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“No one’s stopping you.” Luke shrugged. “Go ahead and thank me.”

“Thank you, Son.” Vader’s hand closed over the top of his.

Luke blinked. For a moment he wanted to pull away, because that word both hurt and comforted him. It made him feel too vulnerable… but, really, what was he fighting? His father? That wasn’t what he intended.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m glad I could be of some help. I can do more. When we open up FX-6 and check his guts, maybe we shouldn’t do that in front of TwoOneBee, you think?”

“It might distress him unnecessarily,” his father agreed. “He seems fond of you.”

“Yeah. So… did he fix your head?”

“Only the outside,” Vader said, and Luke laughed in surprise. “It was the beginning of an infection. He cleaned and patched the synth. I’m having no other problems.”

“Good.” He fiddled with the first layer of the toolbox before conceding that he wasn't interested in working on the ship now. “Did you finish your work?”

“Yes. It took longer than I expected. There’s a problem with raiders in the Vorzyd system.”

“Oh.” Luke turned his head. “What about Yavin? Do I have a base to go back to?”

“Of course. I said I would do my best to prevent an attack while you’re here. However, sometimes it’s necessary to redirect searches so they don’t get too close.”

“Oh. Well… thanks. That won’t get you in trouble, will it?”

“I _can_ be subtle when required,” his dad said dryly.

 _Oh, yeah?_ “So my base is still there on Yavin, right?”

“I just told you it was, Luke. Apparently they do not yet need your cold weather ponchos.”

“Good. I was afraid they might bug out while I’m here so they’d be rid of me.” He tried to sound flippant, but it was a worry that had been lurking in the back of his empty mind for a few days because the Alliance treated him like a problem. “I’d end up flying around looking for clues and wondering where to go.”

“Why would you believe they would be so cruel as to leave you?”

“Dad—” He sighed and leaned forward, arms dangling across his knees. “You’re not paying them any longer. Why would they care? I’m just one person on a big base, and I’m a nuisance to the commanders. Only my squad would know I was missing.”

“And the Command Staff.”

“Yeah, well, they’d be happy. I wonder where they’re planning on going. I’ve never been anywhere cold.”

“Hoth,” his dad said smugly.

“How do you _know_ that?” he snapped, irritated but grudgingly impressed. _“I_ don’t even know that!”

“I have my sources.”

Luke sighed and rolled his eyes. “Darth Mysterious,” he grumbled, then looked up at the ceiling of the hangar, hoping it would bring to mind what he’d studied about planets.

It did. “Uh… it’s a ball of ice. And really cold. I don’t know if I’ll like that.”

“You won’t.” His father sounded almost cheerful. “The only thing worse than cold is wet.”

“Sticky,” Luke agreed. “So the base is going from one miserable place to another miserable place.”

“They go where no one will think to search for them. There are few places in the galaxy more inhospitable than Hoth.”

 _Mustafar is probably one of them,_ he thought. “Well, at least it’ll be warm indoors where I’ll be working…. What?” he demanded when Vader looked sideways at him. “Why _wouldn’t_ it be warm indoors?”

“As you said, Luke, it’s ice.”

“Yeah, but—” He heaved a huge sigh. _Think before you speak._ “Because it would melt. Great. Then it would be cold _and_ wet.”

His dad chuckled. “Come.”

Luke was getting used to one-word commands. Usually there was something interesting at the end of the orders. Curious, he followed his father into the big hangar.

“My prototype TIE Advanced X1 there.” Vader pointed to a unique ship on the outskirts of a cluster of TIEs. “Can you move it?”

“Sure. Where’s the ground-hauler?”

His dad poked his shoulder. “With the Force.”

“Oh. I’ll try.” He walked over to the ship, went behind it, focused the Force and pushed it. His hands slipped off the solar panel. Maybe he should try it from the other side and not use his hands. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and tried again and pushed with his mind.

The ship shuddered a little and then lifted. “It’s working!” he exclaimed. “It’s—” 

_Krit._

His dad was standing there, arm outstretched to show off what he was doing. Vader lowered his hand and the ship remained hovering in place. “That,” his father said, “is object control, and it is what you will begin practicing.”

Just to be contrary he wanted to argue, but this would be such a cool ability to have. “Okay!” He felt a spark of enthusiasm reignite inside him. “So it’s just like a rock. But bigger. I can do that. I love moving stuff around!”

Vader lowered the ship to the deck where it landed gently. “This is most useful for stopping objects that are coming toward you or going somewhere you don’t want them to go.”

“Wow. This is so—so—”

“Cool?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “So… could I _really_ stop a ship? I mean… even when it’s flying?”

“Yes, though it’s more complex because you must stop the _functioning_ of the ship. Identify and seize up the mechanics— your specialty. Not every Force user can freeze a ship in motion. The Emperor can, I can, and I am certain you can because you are, as I am, a being composed solely of organic matter and energy.”

“A what?” When his father continued looking at him, Luke gave it a little thought. “Oh. Like when they take my blood type. They always say I’m 75 percent human and 25 percent unknown. The Force, right?”

“I prefer the terms organic and energy rather than human and unknown.”

“Me too.” He’d remember to point that out to the bloodsucker the next time someone stabbed his thumb for a sample. If he ever got to fly again.

“Let us begin.”

# # #

“Good,” his father said two hours later after Luke had managed to lift the TIE over his head and spin it there— five times in a row. “Tomorrow we’ll work on stopping objects. Now put it down carefully.”

Easier said than done. Luke grimaced and struggled to maintain his concentration. The TIE wobbled to one side but fortunately set down safely. He gave an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion. “This has used at least half of my 25 percent energy self. I need a snack to build me back up again. Something salty. Or sweet.”

His dad shook a finger at him but sounded amused. “No snacks! You may have dinner. Then we’ll plan our day tomorrow. We should take a look at FX-6 in the morning.”

“Okay.” Luke watched as a clear plastisteel shield lowered and clicked into place at the entry to the hangar bay. He stood in front of the large expanse, his mind still drifting in the Force, feeling tired and nearly drained. It was dark and had started to rain again, and he could see his reflection. His father said something, but he didn’t hear it. He could see Vader’s reflection, too, nearly half a hangar-length away, but it seemed to float right behind him, hovering over him, surrounding and embracing him like the wings of a neebray. Their figures melded, and Luke saw himself wearing the suit, becoming Darth Vader. Part of him wanted to accept that. Part of him ached to please his father.

But that part was growing smaller and this vision wasn’t real. It was a false image. A mirage. It shimmered and dissolved. He turned around.

“Are you changing out of your suit after dinner? We have to talk about a lot of things, Dad. I need help.”

# # #

“I didn’t know you had clothes.” His dad was wearing some pieces that looked remarkably similar to Luke’s Sithly outfit. Brown and black. But no boots. His new synthskin feet were bare.

Anakin Vader smiled slightly. “Did you think I had only two options, the suit or nudity?”

“Three,” Luke clarified. “You forgot about the dress.” They relaxed on the sofa, and he clutched his pillow against his chest. “How did you decide what to do with your life?” 

“I didn’t choose. I was raised a Jedi, so that _was_ my life for fourteen years.”

“What exactly did you do as a Jedi?” he asked curiously. He’d heard his dad’s stories, but now he wanted details and explanations.

“We settled disputes between political factions, various trade guilds, planetary discords. Whatever the Jedi Council deemed was proper. Sometimes there were distinct differences in the sides— one morally correct, one very wrong— but generally it was a matter of perspective. The Council never acted against what it considered the best interest of the Order. The Jedi were the enforcers of the wishes of the Chancellor and the Senate— to the extent that the Masters agreed with those policies. If they didn’t agree, we didn’t act.”

“Enforcers sound like stormtroopers.”

His father shrugged one shoulder. “When I look back on it… perhaps we were, in a way. The clone troops were our allies. They upheld the Republic, fought beside us and obeyed our commands until they abandoned the Jedi, and their allegiance switched to empower Palpatine as Emperor.”

“And you,” Luke added quietly. That was one story his dad had told him before. _Order 66._ “Now the troopers uphold the Empire and obey your commands. They’re still your ally. Everything is the same, only the names are different.”

“I suppose.” His dad sounded pensive.

Luke pulled up his knees and curled into the corner of the sofa, resting his chin in the pillow and studying his father’s face. “How did Jedi settle disputes?”

“Sometimes with lightsabers. However, simply the threat of Jedi taking a side in a dispute, whether we drew lightsabers or not, would lead to an immediate resolution of the problem.”

“Isn’t that exactly what the Sith do— sorry, what _you_ do? Take your lightsaber to a problem.”

“Yes.” With the Force, his dad drew an ottoman from across the room and crossed his ankles on it, wriggling his toes as if he couldn’t quite believe their appearance. “Sith are honest about how we act. Jedi believed there was a difference in what they did, but I didn’t think so. Simply put, violence or the threat of it ends disputes.”

“Huh.” He watched his father, fascinated by the way he reacted to his renewed body. There had to be a way to fix the inside of him, too— not just his organs, but his thoughts. Maybe his therapist idea was a good one. Although sometimes he thought that a psychiatrist might be in order for both of them.

“I don’t know how to decide what to do,” Luke said. “Nothing is clear to me. I base so much of myself on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I think about what _you_ would think about things I say and do. I figure out ways to defend you when we see holos of you fighting or when the guys make comments. I’m always defensive, even though I hate some of the things you do. But I don’t hate them as much as I should because it’s _you_ doing them.” He interlinked his fingers and stretched nervously. “I tell myself that it’s Palpatine making you do those things and that when we overthrow him, everything will be different, that you’ll bring peace. But I don’t know if that’s true or if that’s just me wishing it would be true.”

He waited for a response, but his dad wasn’t looking at him, just staring at his toes. Vader might as well have left the mask on if he wasn’t even going to _look._

“Sometimes I think that maybe you’re like me. At the base, I get scolded because I speak before I think. And I wonder… maybe you don’t always mean to do terrible things. Sometimes do you act before you think?” He bit his lip, wondering if his father would be angry.

“Yes.”

Phew. Luke tilted sideways, resting his head on the cushion. “You’ve done things like settling disputes _without_ your lightsaber, you’ve… well, you’ve controlled problems around the galaxy, and I like to think of them as good examples.”

“Thank you,” the Dark Lord said caustically. “Name one.”

He flushed. “I still don’t understand,” he evaded cautiously, “why you decided to leave the Jedi. Can you explain more?”

His father sighed a little, his gaze still fastened on his feet. “Jedi aren’t allowed emotional attachments. To remain a Jedi, I would have had to relinquish Padme. I couldn’t do that. The Temple was my home, the Jedi were my family, and I was going to lose them both, just as I had lost my home with my mother. The Council ordered me to spy on the Chancellor— no, let me be precise— the Council didn’t tell me officially, they wanted to keep their hands clean. They made Obi-Wan do it personally. And Palpatine asked me to spy on the Jedi and advise him about their plans to usurp his chancellorship. I was confused. Both requests were betrayals of my principles.”

He wondered what his dad’s principles were.

Vader shifted, frowning at his memories. “When Master Windu went to arrest Palpatine, I followed. I found Windu holding his lightsaber to Palpatine’s throat, ready to kill him. That went against everything I believed the Jedi stood for. And Palpatine was the only person who could show me how to save Padme. Then, after all I went through for her, Padme rejected me. I fought Obi-Wan for her. I should have destroyed him. It was a magnificent fight. I _would_ have destroyed Kenobi if not for that one stupid, _stupid_ move. I have lived it over and over so many times, one change and everything would have been different. I would have had the galaxy and Padme and you. One _stupid_ move….”

 _Well, you’ve got me and the galaxy, so two out of three isn’t bad._ Luke sighed and wondered what happened to Master Windu, but said nothing, unwilling to interrupt his father’s introspection.

“I gave everything I was to her, I _gave up_ everything to save her— and she _rejected_ me. So it is inevitable that you will reject me too because you believe I am a monster and you hate what I do. The Emperor is the only person who has never betrayed me.”

“Oh, for—” That was too much! Luke scowled at his father’s profile. “You just _said_ he betrayed you when he asked you to spy on the Jedi. And you are _not_ a monster! Remember what you told me?— No? Then let me remind you: You can be anything you want to be. The galaxy is a mess. Its history— Jedi, Sith, Separatists, Empire, Alliance— the conflicts will never end until someone ends it. And it sure doesn’t look like Palpatine is interested in ending conflict. Don’t you see that you could become the _hero_ the galaxy needs?”

“I was a _hero_ in the Clone Wars.” His dad’s tone was bitter.

“Yeah? Then you’ve got a head start because people already remember Anakin Skywalker as a hero!” Luke glared at Anakin because he couldn’t keep thinking ‘Vader’ when his dad was out of the suit. “As for Palpatine— he’s kept you crippled. He tortures you. He put you in a suit that doesn’t have a face, so no one can relate to you and you have no hope of relating to anyone else. Except now you have _me_ and you _know_ I won’t betray you, so stop saying that! I’m part of you and we have the Force linking us. Father, Palpatine started betraying you from the moment he met you. You were a child and he _used_ you. He manipulated you. Everything you’ve ever told me about him— he _groomed_ you. He destroyed everything you had and everything you wanted. He destroyed Padme and the Jedi. Don’t you see that?”

“You don’t understand.” Instead of being angry, his father sounded tired and defeated. “I have no choice. I must obey. He’s my master.”

“No one is your master.” Luke wrapped his arms around his knees, struggling to find words his dad might believe. “What’s he going to do if you disobey him? Torture you? He does that anyway. Kill you? You know he’ll do that the minute you’re no longer useful to him. Is that how he controls you? He gives you the freedom to be angry, to do whatever you want as long as it involves destruction or things so evil that they eat at your soul—”

“Luke, stop.” There was no flare of rage like he’d anticipated. His dad still didn’t meet his eyes, just shook his head wearily. “It’s too late for me, Son. I can’t change even if I want to. You may not agree, but the galaxy sees me as a monster.”

 _Want_ to. Not _wanted_ to.

He clung to those words as he considered what else he could add to his plea. “Someday people will discover that I blew up the Death Star, and _I’ll_ be the monster to a lot of them. If we stay where we are and who we are, we won’t survive unless we’re willing to shed more blood. And then we’d _really_ be monsters.”

His dad smiled slightly, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “Mass murder made you a hero to the Rebellion. So you understand, child, a hero isn’t all that you believe it to be. Heroism isn’t synonymous with justice or righteousness.”

Apparently not. “We can change what everybody sees. We don’t have to be heroes,” he declared earnestly. “We can free the galaxy from the real monster, the Emperor. No one has to know it’s us. Afterwards we can leave. Go somewhere and be safe.” 

“You make it sound so simple.”

“I know it’s not. Dad….” Luke paused, fearing that he was risking too much. _Think before you speak._ If he insisted, there was a chance he could lose his father’s trust and destroy the very thing he was trying to save.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was following in his father’s footsteps, ready to give up everything to save the one he loved.

“I’ve imagined so many scenarios in the last two years. Over and over. Ways we could escape, ways you could… go back. How you could be Anakin Skywalker again.”

With a raised hand, his father tried to cut him off, but Luke didn’t obey.

“We could destroy Palpatine and Vader both. The two of us, Anakin and Luke Skywalker working together. The galaxy would be saved and we could stay or leave.”

“Luke, you want the impossible. Dreams are just that— dreams, not reality.”

“Please, _listen.”_ He scooted closer to his father. “I have it all worked out. Well… maybe not _all_ of it, but…. You have extra armor. Seriously, we could repaint it. Or get new armor. Your legs are too kriffin’ long— if we make new ones, shorter ones, you would look different, no one would think you were ever Vader.”

His dad shook his head impatiently. “You’re being impractical. Too many people already know my identity.”

“We’ll… fix that somehow. Don’t worry about the details now.” He dared to lay his hand on his father’s arm. “There are better solutions for lung implants nowadays. And your voice is good enough to leave it the way it is… unless you want an augmentor, just not a deep one like your vocoder.” Excited, he continued talking when it seemed like Anakin would interrupt. “If Palpatine monitors your medical orders, then I can order everything— legs, lungs, whatever you need. That wouldn’t take long. Maybe we could even grow them with DNA— I don’t know how that works.”

It was Vader, not Anakin, who stood abruptly. “You are exhausted and evidently not thinking clearly. Go to bed— in your quarters, not on my sofa.” He pulled Luke up and pointed toward the stairs.

Undaunted, Luke took a few steps before adding: “Just think about it! We can make it work.”

“Stop.” Vader turned away from him, shoulders rigid. “You want to tear me apart, destroy who and what I am, so that you can rebuild me— just as Palpatine did. But you don’t want a Sith Lord, you want a father. Luke, you _have_ a father. You may regret that it’s me, but anything more, anyone else, is a fantasy. Your dream is impossible. Rip me into pieces and you will be left holding nothing but broken memories and sorrow.” His voice was filled with disappointment and pain.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he protested automatically. But his dad was right. He wanted to remake Darth Vader into another person, one he could have as his father. One that people would accept. A hero. Maybe his intentions _were_ no different from what Palpatine had done.

In the stairwell, he banged his forehead against the wall a few times. What he really wanted was to knock some sense into it, but with his luck it would probably have the opposite effect.

_Think. Before. You. Speak._

It seemed like his dream was impossible. But if he gave up now, it would never come true. Still, maybe he should back off for a little while. It was enough that his dad knew his dream, even if his dream was based on ideas that were very wrong.

“Tomorrow,” his dad called harshly. “Wear armor. We’re going hunting.”

“Hunting what?”

“Trouble.”

Oh. 

_Oh._

Well, okay! Buoyed by the anticipation of an adventure, Luke ran down the stairs. Maybe they could put aside talking and thinking for a day and just have _fun!_


	9. Darth Mysterious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and his father face a band of pirates. Because Vader is bored.

He studied his reflection in the mirror in his father’s dressing room. Imagine telling someone that Darth Vader had a dressing room. In fact, a very, very large dressing room with a very, very long mirrored wall. That someone would be forgiven for suspecting that the Sith Lord was a little egotistical about his appearance. Luke fidgeted with the leather wrap belt that went over his armor and tunic, trying to readjust it.

“I look twice my size,” he complained.

His father studied him. “That’s the point. You have been malnourished at your pitiful base. My hands can span your waist.”

“Oh, yeah? Just try it,” he muttered, but teasingly.

Vader tugged Luke’s hood forward, shadowing his face until only the tip of his nose and his mouth and chin were visible.

“I can’t see.”

“You can see just fine.”

“Huh.”

His dad quit fiddling with his clothes, and they stood next to each other, viewing their images. Vader flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his cloak, then put his hands on his hips. Luke copied him.

“No. Arms down. Shoulders back— stand up straight. Now clench your fists.”

Luke followed the instructions. “Now I look as wide as I am tall.” But actually…. “I look _dangerous!”_

“You _are_ dangerous. Never forget that.”

“I guess.” Still, he looked extra-small with his dad towering next to him. He was tempted to ask Vader to crouch.

“You are one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy.”

“Oh, sure. I’m number three,” he said glumly. “After _him_ and you.”

“When my plan is successful, you will be number two.”

 _“Our_ plan,” Luke reminded.

Vader ignored that. “And one day, if you continue learning and practicing, you may possibly surpass me.”

“What? Why? You have a lot more Force… er, bigger parts of _Energy_ than I do.”

“Some of my extraordinary Force powers were lost with my limbs. You must take care that you don’t suffer the same fate.”

Yeah, well…. It was time to move _Darth Extraordinary’s_ thoughts away from _that_ topic. “Hey.”

The helmet turned toward him. Luke kept staring forward into the mirror.

“I’m sorry that I was kind of a sleemo last night.”

A harsh huff of amusement came from his dad’s vocoder. “Now _that’s_ a word I haven’t heard in a long time. You are most certainly not a sleemo.”

He spun and flung his arms around Dad Vader and was disturbed that for a moment he felt surprise. _It’s a hug! You should be used to it!_ Luke stayed where he was, knowing the Dark Lord was watching them in the mirror, seeing his son resting against his chest, and feeling… what _was_ that? Confusion? Affection? Astonishment? Or—

Hah! _Triumph!_ His father saw his apology as some sort of surrender. Luke was certainly familiar with that feeling only he called it: _Yay, I won!_

Well, that was okay. He was fine with giving his dad what he needed right now, but that didn’t mean giving up his dream. “Whatever, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t even consider that it would be rebuilding you like _he_ did.” Great, here he was back on the topic he’d just tried to avoid. “You’re right. I was thinking about me and you and having a different life for us.”

One big hand pressed atop his hood and Vader was quiet for several breaths. “You have some interesting ideas.”

_Yay, I won!_

He raised his head to look fully at his dad. “Really? Which one do you like best?”

“Now is not the time for this discussion. I told you we’re going to hunt for trouble and we are.”

“Why?” He unwrapped his arms from around the black cape and smoothed it carefully.

“Because I’m bored. And you need a new experience.” Vader grabbed his shoulders and turned him back to the mirror. “Stand up straight and school your expression.”

“Do what?” He scowled and tried to appear menacing.

“No, don’t frown, just look serious and don’t make eye contact with the other pilot.”

“Why not?” They left Vader’s quarters and entered a lift heading down.

“Because you are a mystery.” As they exited and approached the hangar, Vader said in a low voice, “Perhaps they will think _you_ are Darth Mysterious.”

Luke giggled, then snapped his mouth closed. “Don’t make me laugh! Where are we going?”

“I want to take a closer look at the problem around Vorzyd-5. It may be an organized band of pirates. _You,_ young one, will be on my starboard flank.”

Say what? “Hey! You mean I get to fly? By myself? And I’m your _wingman?”_

“Put on your helmet. You’re taking that Interceptor.”

 _Wow!_ He would’ve said that aloud, but they were approaching a black-helmeted TIE pilot.

“Captain, review the Interceptor’s controls and run a pre-flight check with Sir Garven. He will be my starboard.”

Double-wow! His heart felt like it jumped and started to beat faster. _It’s okay to be nervous, it’s okay to be nervous,_ he reassured himself. He’d never flown an Interceptor other than the short excursion from the Devastator that had ended with a brief and violent confrontation with pirates. Pirating must be a big business in the galaxy. He gave the pilot a worried look before realizing that with his hood down and helmet on, the other man couldn’t see his expression. But he _schooled_ his face anyway and climbed into the cockpit while the pilot read the checklist aloud.

After a few minutes, he realized that he remembered all these switches and controls except for one thing. “Where’s the, uh, weapons control?”

“Here.” The man leaned over him and pointed. “Laser cannons. You can fire two, four or six at a time.”

He wondered what difference how many made. Bigger targets required six cannons to hit them? But surely that would be for ordinary people, not for Force users who didn’t miss. “There’s no shielding, right?”

“This is an upgraded ship. You have shields, but if you run into heavy fire, get the hell out, don’t rely on shielding.”

“Thanks,” Luke said uncertainly, then wondered if Darth Mysterious should say thank you.

There was a moment of silence before the other offered quietly: “You’ll be fine.”

So much for Dangerous Darth Mysterious. “I know.” He tried to sound powerful, but his voice was shaky and he was just relieved that it didn’t squeak.

The pilot headed for a second Interceptor. _Dad… it is only us three taking on an entire band of pirates? We don’t even know how many there are._

His dad was already in the Advanced X1. _Yes. Usually I would take care of this on my own, but I believe it will be good experience for you._

Luke rolled his eyes. Still, he knew the Dark Lord could easily take down a lot of ships at once because he’d done it before. He felt a rush of excitement from his father, and he answered it with one of his own.

_Skywalkers to the Rescue!_

Wait. Were they actually rescuing anyone? Or just saving shipments from pirates? _Dad?_

_We are eliminating miscreants and diverting shipments that are intended for a useless, dissolute society that indulges in hedonism, materialism and gambling._

Okay then, open disapproval of the pirates’ victims, which meant his dad was doing this for fun. _Sounds great! Can we stop there afterward for a bite of hedonism?_

Vader answered him with a sham growl and, with a grin, Luke launched his TIE out of the hangar behind his father.

# # #

The question about laser cannons was answered immediately. Pirate ships moved _fast_ and there were lots of them! Seven, eight— he couldn’t keep track because they kept coming and his father kept eliminating those miscreants. Luke finally got a cruiser in his sights first, fired multiple blasts of six cannons, and the ship was obliterated in a shower of white sparks.

“Ya-HOOOO!” he shouted, and was elated that his dad didn’t tell him to keep off the radio. That’s what the Alliance would have— and _had_ — done. Encouraged, he took the TIE into a full loop and came out behind a small freighter and blasted it to smithereens. _Yay, I won!_

Captain No-Name in the other TIE was doing okay, too. Between the three of them, it was a short battle. Luke felt a little disappointed by its brevity.

“We will land on that moon forty degrees to our port side. I sense much activity— possibly the location of their warehouse,” the Dark Lord said over the com. “Garven, you’re with me. Captain, remain with our ships to guard them, but not at the cost of your life. I believe there will be many ships to choose from should we decide to change vehicles.” There was a lilt of humor in the deep voice that made Luke smile.

 _Sure, like you would give up your X1,_ he Sent. _I think maybe you_ want _pirates to steal it so you can chase them down!_

The three TIEs made precise landings on a smooth surface that had been flattened to accommodate ships. Nothing would have been obvious from a distance, but now Luke could see a ramp descending below a rocky part of the surface and he could feel the presence of others.

And those others were panicking. Luke was willing to bet that while they knew their hideout was under attack, they didn’t know the Dark Lord of the Sith was personally on his way. With Darth Junior.

The ramp ended in a large empty space with archways carved into the rock on all sides. His father ignited his lightsaber and Luke, following behind, drew his but didn’t turn on the laser, worried that if he stumbled, he would run his father through. He imagined that moment of horror and disbelief and how he would just stand there and—

_Unlikely, child. Now, stop daydreaming and focus._

Focus. Focus. Fine, he could focus. It seemed like that had always been a difficult thing for him, especially when he was nervous. No one really understood how hard it—

_FOCUS!_

_Fine. I’m focused!_ Well, he wasn’t _quite_ focused because it was hard to stop thinking about stopping thinking and—

_Do you require extra practice in discipline in order to maintain focus?_

Luke frowned and _focused_ outward, feeling the lifeforms that were in hiding, surrounding them. There was a movement to his left, his father swung his saber and then, with roars of defiance, humanoids of multiple races he didn’t recognize burst from every side. Lightsaber ignited, Luke moved back-to-back with Vader and diverted blaster fire away from them. He heard something— blasters falling to the floor?— and realized his dad had snatched them just like in the holovid of the action on the Princess’s ship.

 _I can do that,_ he decided and reached out one hand and _pulled_ with the Force while swinging his saber with the other. A single gun clattered to the floor. Well, better than nothing. He tried it again, and another blaster flew through the air and fell.

Minutes later, only three pirates remained. They fell to their knees on the blood-splattered floor alongside the bodies of their fellow pirates, and laced their hands behind their heads. Blades still lit, Luke and his father studied them.

“They saw you use the Force,” his father said as if they were in ordinary conversation.

“Oh.” Luke sighed. “That’s a problem. Can we modify their memories or—”

With a single swing of the saber, Vader lopped off three heads. “Problem solved.”

“...or not,” Luke finished, staring at the bodies and the heads that had tumbled from their shoulders. Two sets of eyes stared at him while the third pair stared at the ground.

His father looked at him and waited, silently challenging Luke to disapprove of his action.

It was a battle, they were the enemy…. Although he seemed to remember being upset when his father said exactly that about Luke’s Rebel friends. Well… his dad was what he was. Maybe Luke could change some things about him, but not everything, so he shrugged. “Is that all of them?”

“Reach out. Do you feel any others?”

Everything turned into a lesson. He paused and _focused._ “No one else. So… should we check out what they have hidden? Maybe some hedonism that we can take home.” He caught his breath. “Maybe they have _clothes!_ Like… rich people clothes! For the gamblers and all the other dissolute… whatevers.”

Vader grunted. “Come with me.”

Wow, they were actually going to _look?_ But no, as soon as they stepped into a warehouse filled with pallets of boxes, Vader struck viciously at them, shattering and slicing through the boxes and their contents. Luke watched, spellbound by the feelings streaming from his dad. There was aggression, but it wasn’t angry, it was thrilled and… satisfied. His father was enjoying this. He was _happy._ Destruction made Vader feel…. Well, Luke didn’t want to name that emotion because it was creepy and made him uncomfortable, like he was spying on Vader’s intimate feelings. Without much interest, he lightsabered a box himself to see if he felt anything similar, but he only regretted the loss of whatever stuff was inside, because it was probably something good. Then he stood aside and let his dad continue his destructive rampage, hoping he’d release all those extreme feelings before they headed home.

# # #

When they landed in the hangar on Vjun, Captain No-Name said to him, “Good work, Sir Garven,” and Luke inclined his head slightly as he imagined Darth Mysterious would. Maybe he should be Darth Mysterioso. Darth Mystic. Oh, wait— maybe he shouldn’t be a Darth! He could just be Mysterioso. Or Deep Space Sprite.

Behind him, his father sighed. _Please, no._

“You created a monster,” Luke teased, before realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have used that word.

But his dad didn’t react— at least not that Luke could tell. Vader was still restless and on edge, though, and he drew his lightsaber.

“Uh, Dad… maybe we shouldn’t….”

“Captain,” Vader interrupted, “send a team back to the moon. There are seven ships that we can make use of.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And now, young one, you may practice your gymnastics while dueling.” Vader raised his blade. The polished floor reflected a line of red.

“What?! I dunno about that….”

“I will not chop off any limbs,” his father said, reading his mind. “This is a safe time to practice your athletic moves.”

“Okay.” he said doubtfully, turning on his saber and seeing its purple shimmer on the deck. Also, he was pretty sure he saw some golden sparkles scattered around. Were they falling off his clothes or were they just floating everywhere in the air? He stalled, trying to wipe them away with his boot. “No, WAIT! Hey, what happened to the Jedi who had a purple lightsaber like mine?”

“I told you, he tried to kill Palpatine.”

“And…?”

“You can guess the ending.” Vader raised his blade. “Now, engage and stop playing with those damn sparkles.”

His head drooped and he looked to the side. If his dad was still in battle mode that didn’t bode well for his remaining hand. “No… WAIT! Remember once when you said that I could extend some kind of protection around the other pilots? To keep them safe? How do I do that? Is it like… moving big things but in reverse?”

“Something like that. I will teach you. Now stop stalling.”

He groaned. “But what if I chop off my _own_ limbs? Like if I’m doing a backflip and—and—”

“There is only one way to find out.” The Dark Lord swung his sword.

Luke leaped and flipped over, holding his blade as far away from his body as he could. It grazed the deck a second before he landed and left a scorch mark. “Oops.”

“Try again,” his dad ordered, and Luke was afraid it would be awhile before he got a lunch break.

“I’m tired and hungry,” he complained. “And you’re trying to kill me.”

“Young one!” Vader stalked toward him, saber held by his side. “I am trying to ensure that you will remain _alive_ no matter what situation you are in.”

He gave a skeptical smile along with a shrug of acknowledgement. “Yeah, well….”

Another step and his father’s mask was practically sitting on his forehead. “You. Will. Not. Die.”

That sounded like an order. “Okay.” This time his smile was genuine. “And you won’t either, you hear me?”

An odd sound came from his dad. “Very well. Ten more minutes of practice and then you may take a meal break.”

The blade swung and Luke jumped.

###

  
  



	10. Functional Dysfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader and Luke do a lot of talking about the past and the future— and have some fun bonding time over fashion.

“How’s your head?”

“Still attached.”

Luke tried for an uncomfortable smile, but he knew his dad knew he thought that was morbid, considering what had happened earlier. “Who else knows Darth Vader is a comedian?” He pulled his head out from the engine compartment. “Almost done here.”

“Good.” His father sat back and straightened, turning a power calibrator over and over between his gloved fingers. “No one knows, not any more. Only you.”

He stared at the tool, aware of how tightly Vader was gripping it. “That sounds lonely.” There was no response, so he added, “Good thing I’m here now so you have a guaranteed audience for your stand-up routine.”

“Yes.”

Luke stifled a sigh. His dad was sliding into Brooding Mode, and he was determined to stop it. “Seriously, is your new synth-patch healing okay?”

“I’ve had no further issues.” The Dark Lord seemed to recover himself. “TwoOneBee has scheduled an overall body-check tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” There was something important he had to say, and this seemed like a good time to distract his dad. “I want to thank you for spending so much time with me.”

“Nobody’s stopping you.” There was a lighter tone in the voice. “Go ahead and thank me.”

“Ack!” Luke rolled his eyes. “Why do you quote me when I say things like that? Why don’t you quote the brilliant things?!”

The polished helmet tilted toward him, questioning.

“Don’t think sarcastic, I can hear it!” He sighed. “Thank you for spending so much time with me. I didn’t think you’d be able to. I figured you’d have to work a lot or be really busy, so….”

“This time is for us, Luke.” Vader turned on the workbench and faced him. “It’s our time to plan your future.”

“And _your_ future _,”_ he prodded. “And… _really!_ Can’t you just say you’re spending all this time because you _like_ me?”

“You know I like you.” The Sith stood. “I think we’re done with the ship for today. Shall we ‘chillax’?”

He groaned. “Dad, that’s a terrible expression! Don’t use it again. Nobody says that anymore! But… yeah.” It was his favorite time of their days. Sure, he loved everything he was learning and practicing, but the evenings with his dad were special. There was no intimidating Dark Lord suit, just his dad...

_Anakin Vader._

“I heard that.”

They left the hangar. “It’s a compromise name. Half and half.” He followed his dad, not to the lift as he’d expected, but into the cavernous main entry. “Where are we going?”

“Fresh air. It’s not raining.”

“Oh.” Yeah, that would be nice, but it would be better if his dad could inhale fresh air too. “Do you think we can fix your… I don’t know. Something. You need to breathe real air.” _Even if it is wet and a little disgusting._

They stepped onto the wide pavilion that surrounded the towers. A few of the blue-insignia 501st troopers were posted near the door, and Vader acknowledged them with a bend of his head. Luke copied him with a nod, then realized he should have pulled up his hood. Which he did now. His dad didn’t criticize him for having it down. Maybe he was mellowing.

“Let’s walk.”

“Okay, as long as it’s up here.” He peered doubtfully over the rim at the pointy things on the ground below.

“Impudent young ones shouldn’t venture too close to the edge.”

“Right!” He stepped back and moved to the other side of his father. Even if Vader fell off— which he wouldn’t— he could just fly back up. Between the Force and the suit, his father was pretty much indestructible, Luke thought happily. But immediately he was worried. “Are we leaving soon?”

Vader stopped. “Are you anxious to get back to your friends?”

“No. But you said _maybe_ you could stay a week and it’s been five days. That’s almost a week. I don’t want to leave yet!”

“You’re fretting again.”

He clicked his tongue. “Every time I’m worried about something, you say I’m ‘fretting’. I’m not fretting!”

“That is _exactly_ what you are doing.”

“Sithspit! Would you quit arguing and just answer my question!”

Vader walked away, and Luke hurried to catch up. “Wait!”

“What _is_ your question, disrespectful child?”

He heaved a huge sigh. “Are we— Um… oh, yeah, are we leaving soon?”

“Not yet. We may require a bit longer than a week.”

“Yay!” He caught his lower lip with his teeth and looked around, but there were no troopers to overhear. “We could stay here forever.”

Vader looked at him.

“Well, maybe not _here,”_ Luke amended. “This planet sort of sucks.”

His father pretended to groan. “That’s a terrible expression. Don’t use that again.”

“Stop quoting me.” Still, if Darth Vader thought ‘sucks’ was terrible, it must be especially, unbelievably, irretrievably wicked. “Okay, anyway I just meant we should be together somewhere.”

Vader grunted. “Walk faster.”

“What’s the rush?”

“We must talk about your future.”

“Well, my future isn’t going away just because I walk slower!” Luke pulled the hood farther forward, avoiding the stares of the stormtroopers who were posted every few meters. Although they weren’t actually staring, at least not that he could tell. “Besides, we’ve talked about it fifty million times already.”

“Not quite that many.” Vader stopped and surveyed the landscape, fists on his hips. “Perhaps I was mistaken to send you to the Rebels. I should send— Well. Would you like to go to university?”

Hmm. At least this time it was a question, which was an improvement over the last time when his dad informed him that he was going.

They walked on while Luke considered it. “Maybe. Someday. After— well, I can’t say ‘after the war is over’, can I? Because it will never end. So, after we’ve settled things with _him._ Maybe then I can go. Instead of ruling the galaxy.”

His dad remained silent. They paused to look at the distant sea that was shrouded by a sheet of rain. _The cloud is probably coming this way_ , he thought glumly. _It sees me and it’s coming for me._

“Anyway, I don’t know what I would study. And I don’t want to go just to be going.”

Vader gave a half shrug. “You appear to have some natural talent in healing. And,” he added in a dry tone, “psychology. As well all things mechanical. Or perhaps science, physics…. Fashion design. Art. You are capable of a variety of occupations.”

“You think so?” That pleased him. His dad thought he was really talented in a lot of areas.

“Yes. It’s….” The deep voice trailed off. “It’s... unfortunate... that you weren’t old enough to attend Jedi Temple training. You would have excelled. You would have known your place then.”

Well. That line of thought would send his dad into a Mood again, the one where he hated himself. To the place in his head that held the bad memories.

“We have what we have, Dad. We can work with that.” He curled his hand around his dad’s arm. “Let’s go back inside. I want to see your face while we talk.”

His father stopped and was now as immovable as a ship (without the Force). “Luke.”

“What?”

“We are not walking arm in arm. I have an image to uphold.”

Luke smiled innocently and let go, then held out his hands, fists closed. “Maybe you should put binders on me. For the sake of your image.”

“I am sorely tempted.”

They passed by the bench where they had sat a couple days ago. Luke sighed a little, then began cautiously, “Father, “what does ‘ruling the galaxy’ mean to you? Do you want to live in the Palace and govern and deal with bureaucrats day after day?”

“Pah!” That was definitely a snort. “Certainly not!”

“That’s what I figured,” he confirmed. “You want action. You _enjoy_ what you’re doing now.”

“You _hate_ what I’m doing now.”

He considered what to say. “Well... sometimes I’m disappointed.”

 _Zing!_ He felt since father wince inside as that arrow hit. “But I love _you,_ and that means accepting what you choose to do— at least for awhile until you change. Like you used to do with me before I worked so hard to be perfect for you.” 

Vader stayed silent.

“Like today,” Luke pointed out. “I wanted to know if we could alter the pirates’ memories and you just chopped off their heads without consulting me.”

 _“Consulting you?”_ That obviously struck his dad the wrong way because irritation was simmering under his words. “You are neither my partner nor the arbiter of my behavior. You are my _son_ and therefore you are subordinate to me in all things. You certainly do not have the right to question my actions.”

Seriously? Luke swallowed his automatic response. Maybe his father was still carrying around some rage from the battle encounter. This called for a little tact… if he could come up with some. “You’re my father, but you’re also my teacher. As a teacher, you should explain things and let me ask questions.”

“I see.” The Sith Lord folded his arms and stood in front of him. “So… perhaps you desire to be my apprentice.”

“What?” His mind went blank.

“I have had apprentices before. They did not work out,” Vader said distantly. There was quiet for a very long minute while it seemed like the Sith Lord contemplated the previous failures. “You understand that this offer is an honor.”

He knew his mouth was hanging open in an unbecoming way, but…. “Uh….”

“You would not be allowed, of course, to disappoint me. Or you would suffer the same consequences.”

“What?” He scrambled for a reply. “You mean… you’d chop off my head?”

Vader’s fingers gestured slightly before reclamping on his own arm. “I was not specifically referring to the pirates. However….”

Wait. “Are you trying to be funny? Because if you are, it’s not working.”

“It is an extreme honor to be offered the opportunity to become my apprentice.”

Oh… krit. That didn’t sound like joking. “What just happened here? A few minutes ago you thought I could study fashion design and now you want me to be your Sith apprentice?”

“I did not say Sith.” With a swirl of black, Vader turned and headed along the walkway. Luke followed, confused and a little worried. Sure, he knew his dad was volatile— well, they _both_ were— but he really didn’t understand what was going on. Had he upset his father? Or was his dad just doing what _he_ used to do— yanking his chain?

Luke shot Vader a sideways glance, then paused as something caught his eye. A distraction, thank the stars. “Look! There’s a— some kind of animal. That’s the first one I’ve seen.”

Vader followed his gaze. “It’s an armored rodent, I believe. Half the size of you.”

“Yuck. I hope they can’t climb.” He imagined hearing claw noises in the middle of the night and finding one in his bedroom.

“No creatures have ever _climbed_ up here.”

He noted the emphasis. “What!”

“Well,” his dad added casually, “the native version of a varactyl can fly, but—”

“Stooop!” Luke scowled. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

“I know.” Vader sounded satisfied. “Shall we get back to the topic at hand?”

He grimaced. “I forgot what it was.”

“Ruling the galaxy.”

That’s weird, he’d thought it was about Vader’s actions and reforming him and wanting Luke to be his apprentice. But he was grateful for the sudden change, though he figured the apprentice thing would come back to haunt him. “Okay…. So, tell me you didn’t expect that _I_ would do the boring governing part while you were off gallivanting around the galaxy, being the enforcer?”

“There is nothing wrong with the goal of ruling the galaxy with me. I don’t understand your reluctance. There are many who would be more than eager for that opportunity.”

“Then ask one of _them!”_

“Did I mention that I ordered dinner for you? It should be delivered in five minutes.”

“What? I’m not even hungry! You’re trying to distract me!”

“You are always hungry. Eat and then come to my study in an hour.”

“It won’t take me a whole _hour_ to eat!” Although it would take longer than that for him to recover from their disconcerting conversation.

“I’m sure you can find a way to occupy your time. In your quarters,” Vader added warningly.

# # #

His suitless dad was behind his big desk. A second chair was pulled to the other side, so Luke sat. “What did you study at the Jedi Temple?” That seemed like a better topic than the Sith Apprentice idea.

“Everything. When I started out I was behind the others because I was older, but I was determined to catch up and I did.”

“How did you know what you wanted to do with your life? I mean, there were other choices besides fighting, weren’t there?”

“Of course. We had aptitude tests to determine our suitability and interests. I wanted excitement and adventure.”

“A Jedi craves not those things,” Luke quoted primly.

His father chuckled, recognizing Yoda’s admonishment. “And yet we were trained as if those were our objectives. Gymnastics, hand-to-hand combat, lightsabers—”

“Everything I’m doing!” He clucked. “Dad, are you trying to make me into a Jedi?”

“I’m not trying to make you into anything, Luke.” His father was serious again. “I want you to reach your full potential to be the best possible Force adept, to be able to use your skills for protection and defense or for aggression as appropriate. You must fight for survival in a galaxy torn by war.”

He sighed. “Did you know that regular people can go their whole lives without using a weapon? Some people don’t even _own_ one if they don’t need to protect themselves from Tuskens or wild animals… or stormtroopers. Dad, you were _raised_ to be a warrior.”

“There were no formal hostilities until the Clone War.”

“Then why were you raised to fight? Why did Jedi have lightsabers if they didn’t intend to use them? It seems like the Jedi were a warrior… cult, I guess. Sith, too… or am I wrong?”

“Fighting is an essential skill.”

 _Wholesale slaughter isn’t fighting._ “I suppose.”

“Now,” his father said, “close your eyes. Feel the table.”

“Oh, c’mon! Can’t we do something _fun?”_

“We will. After you feel the table.”

“What am I feeling for? Did you lose something?”

“Luke.”

Well, fine. He placed his palms flat and closed his eyes. His mind drifted and he let it wander for a few seconds before focusing. Physical sensations— flat, cool, smooth. Then below the surface, particles that held it together… particles that composed the particles, smaller and smaller until he was standing somewhere that was grey and—

_The Void._

He wanted to run, but two unformed hands closed invisibly around his non-existent wrists. _I’m here,_ his father said. _Do not fear. Look around. See what surrounds you, what you’ve left behind. Does anything remain there?_

 _Remain?_ Cautiously he looked at the ground between them. There was no abyss. It seemed fairly solid— but then, everything here was an illusion. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

There was a path, not straight, but wobbly, and it vanished into the mist. There were no bodies along the edges. No Owen, no Beru, no Biggs, no Death Star— no one. _I don’t see anything._

_So you have accepted your past and everything that happened._

Luke shook his head. _I haven’t forgotten. I remember every bit of my life._

 _Not forgotten. Accepted. Acknowledged._ His father’s grip tightened. _I’ve never totally understood the Void, but now I think… perhaps it is those feelings we cannot forgive. The deeds that we do not accept in ourselves. The memories that lure us into the darkest reaches of our souls. We must acknowledge the burdens if we are to move on._

That seemed cold. _But the people I hurt— I didn’t mean to, but I still regret what happened._ He hesitated, but knew he had to ask. _Last time you said that you lived here. Do you still see the dark things?_

A hand cupped his cheek. He couldn’t feel the glove, just the touch of his father. _Yes. Those actions that I truly regret— that I cannot forgive in myself— they remain. But also some of the memories I am proud of. Destruction and revenge sate me. The memories of power that I used to wield… and the consequences of the power that I wield now. Those memories stay, and they have sustained me. I would not wish them away._

 _Oh._ A wave of sadness washed over him, his or Anakin’s or Vader’s— he couldn’t tell.

 _Let’s go back_ , his father said gently.

And they were in his dad’s study.

Luke stared at his hands that still rested on the desk. He felt… disoriented. Depressed. Unhappy. Maybe even hopeless. It didn’t seem to matter how close he got to his loving father, Darth Vader was always there. The slightest wrong step, the wrong word— Vader was there. But his dad was controlled around him. Even today, destroying the pirates’ booty, Vader hadn’t directed any of the rage toward Luke. 

“Let’s order clothes for you,” his dad said, reading his discouragement.

As if it were so simple. As if that could drag him out of his dark thoughts. As if.... He pursed his lips. “Okay,” he replied with an effort. Nothing he felt was going to spoil their time together.

Anakin Vader punched something on his datapad and a figure about half a meter tall appeared. Not a holo, it was looked solid and rotated slowly above the screen.

“Is that _me?”_ Although it was completely unnecessary, he pretended he could see better if he dragged his chair to sit behind his dad, resting his chin on Vader’s shoulder, watching the figure with fascination. It was a fair representation of him— and probably had completely accurate measurements. Maybe the stalker’s snaps were used to build the model.

A few more keystrokes and mini-Luke was wearing his ivory tunic and pants.

“White boots first.” Another jab and Mini was wearing white knee-high boots. “Ah. Your friend Wes is right. You look like a stormtrooper. Very well, let’s try sandy.”

The first pair were wrap boots. “Too informal,” his dad declared, and Luke raised his eyebrows.

“I _knew_ you were a fashionista,” he muttered, a smile finally lifting his humor.

“Mmm. How about these?” Yes, light tan leather with pale decorative stitching on the shafts.

“Beautiful!” Luke sighed happily.

“Ordered. Now, let’s try thigh boots. With pants,” his father added pointedly.

“Fine.” Basic black tunic and _pants_ … oh. The thigh boots looked ridiculous. He looked like a squat torso sitting on a wide platform of boot tops. Luke said nothing.

Vader said nothing.

He sighed again, unhappily this time. “Guess not.”

“Good decision.” A few boring outfits were cycled through. “What about a knee length cape?”

“Like a poncho?”

“Hmm. I suppose there isn’t much difference.”

“How about a longer cape? Mid-calf?”

“It would make you look shorter.” Vader found a black above-the-knee cloak with a hood and gold embroidered fastenings. “This is nice.”

“Black again? But I love it.” It seemed like his dad was enjoying this even more than him. “Let’s get something for you!”

“For me?”

“You can’t keep wearing that dress forever. Nice clothes will feel good against your new skin. And you need something other than this Sithly-Jedi-whatever outfit you’re wearing now. Maybe another color. Like deep blue. Velvet. Fancy.”

A small chuckle answered him. “I would have nowhere to wear such a thing.” But Vader obligingly pulled up a model of himself in the bodyglove and found a sapphire shirt that he matched with a snug vest and black pants.

“Wear it here. Or wherever you’re hanging out. You might as well look good when you’re out of the suit.” He gasped at a long fitted robe that appeared. “Wow! You _so_ have to get that!” It was that indefinable color between black and blue, like the sky just before midnight, with a stiff, heavily pleated collar that swooped over the shoulders like the wings of birds.

“It’s ridiculous,” his father said, but there was wistfulness in his tone.

“It’s gorgeous and elegant and it suits you,” Luke declared. “I could never carry that off, but you’re so tall— Just get it, even if you only wear it as a bathrobe.”

“If you insist,” Vader said, like he was doing Luke a favor.

He thought about the beautiful white cloak he’d brought along and hadn’t given to his dad yet. “What about something in ivory and cream? And you— oh, wait! We could have matching robes and pajamas! You need some in blue and gold.”

“Just blue,” his dad pointed out, “because these gold sparkles will never disappear. They are stuck to all my cloaks. I will be finding them for years. They’ll make the Executor’s cleaning droids short circuit.”

“Good. Then you’ll always remember me.” His chin remained on his dad’s shoulder, but now he draped his arms loosely around him. “Let’s order more stuff for you. How long will they take to get here?” Maybe it would be days and days, and he and his dad could stay here for—

“Later tomorrow.” At his jolt of surprise, Vader said, “These aren’t custom pieces, Luke. They’ll be altered to fit us, but it will be done quickly.”

“Oh.” He was a little disappointed by the timing and the idea that his clothes were off the rack. Still, it must be a very _good_ rack. “That’s fast.”

“I’ve become a preferred customer since I’ve been ordering for you.”

“Huh.” He pulled back and stared at his dad’s profile. “Who do they think you’re ordering for? Do they think you have a boyfriend?”

Vader frowned. “Where do you get these ideas? First, no one would dare ask. Second, no one knows I’m _me_ , and third, no one questions orders of this magnitude.”

 _“Magnitude?_ Sheesh, it’s not like you’ve ordered a _ton_ of clothes for me!”

“They’re very expensive clothes,” his dad said smoothly. “The same fine quality that a Sith Apprentice would wear.”

Luke sighed. “Daa-aad. Forget about that. Let’s look at more stuff for you.”

Because he guessed that little made his father happier than parading in front of the big mirror in the big dressing room, looking fine.

And time spent modeling was a lot better than time spent wreaking destruction and taking revenge.

# # #

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing in Part 10: More Luke and Vader. Next up: all those clothes arrive and must be modeled. Fluff ensues.


End file.
